Letters, and Other Prayers

Introduction

The first book in an Author’s career is always exciting, to know that one’s work has been deemed worthy of the paper (or the kilobytes of free space) which contains it. Suspecting most Readers skip the introduction, I will be brief.

This is the fruit of a year of poetry written in my first year of college. It is written in both English and Polish. The poems are not arranged according to any particular order: as they were written, so they are shared below with you. Consider this book a poetic diary, filled with a multitude of dreams, hopes, concerns, and righteous outcries against the injustices around us. I need speak nothing more.

God be glorified, Reader be blessed,

Adrian Poniatowski

Ithaca, New York

December 12, 2012

* * *

Ad Legate (To The Reader)

In your hands you hold a book

Of letters I wrote to God and men.

In them read my heart, and

Read your heart as well.

Letter to the Foundress

My sweet third mother, pray tell me,

What holy inspiration and Christian piety

Moved your heart to build this nursery of men,

And receive into your family the generations

Of boys your generosity would lift to heights untold?

Oh, dear Foundress, should you see from thy throne

How the gracious Will did hold that your seed thrive,

Increase, and bear countless fruit, countless good

To mix sweetly with your praises of God’s glory

Our paeans and dedications: ad majorem Dei gloriam!

Behold, already, how many of the living stones

Of the eternal kingdom doth bear the double crimson griffons,

How many more shall still be added, impressed

With a love so true, a wisdom so bright, as if

To make the very angels squeal with delight!

See how the noble work draws, summons, and calls

Boys from the northern plains, down to the wastes of Jersey,

And the whole swath of country and city in between, from every

Nation and every station, every problem in the world

to marshal round in prophetic, daring discourse.

For these boys have but one mistress: Truth,

And her holy ministers, also learning, guide them through

The illusion of the world to glimpse the eternal form,

Eternal Plan, and as men for others lay the brick

Where their brothers hath left off – and bring to life.

Yes! From this capital of books, this fortress of

Knowledge come legions of Christ to fight the dark

With Light, the lies with Truth, the silence with Word,

And hate with Love. Yes, my love, they shall their mind

Employ as sword to fulfill the vision they hath saw.

Pray for us then, our mother, that as we don our

Peaked helmets and receive our spurs, and walk forth

From this Jesuit Athens, that the Sacred Heart may with a

Drop of Christ’s courage imbue my other brothers

And Christ’s love make us the matches to burn the world.

And as we sow the harvest through the Earth,

Let your gift always be in our eye, the tree your children fed

For fifty years before it grew and spread. For now, I know,

Sweet Jesus, that I will return to this nest of mine,

To see new owlets fly until the very end of time.

Letter to My Mentor

Unless the bard has sung of you, you have done nothing.

Oh would you know the dreadful feeling

When I looked upon this Acropolis,

Jesuit Athens, they all called it,

The capital of Christian learning.

There I stood, almost weeping, shaken

By myself, as my young heart rejected

The mind’s stern command: Storm!

So did that winter Saturday impress upon my mind.

But as they led me (to a certain doom) behold!

I saw your countenance: the one I’d see many a time

And many a class again. Know it was you

Who assured my fragile, crystal dream did not shatter.

Indeed, that citadel in the sky fell again

To receive me and my brothers. More, it became

My second home, the holy womb

Of a new legion of God.

You have taught me the wonders He

Hath wrought, the whispers His Word breathed

As he quickened and quickens life. Behold

The wonders you have shown, as if my Vergil.

Yes, with this knowledge I crown you,

As the first fruit of your Reward: that

You revealed to me the Lord God in a cell,

In the child, in the marvelous vision of Creation.

Oh blesséd, truly blessed they who teach

To see God, first by reason, then by love,

For they too shall see Him. I only pray that

God may likewise bless my brothers

With the vision your smile in class.

Rozmowa z golabkiem

Kruszynko! Dlaczego tak mi uciekasz?

Spokojnie! Ja tylko chcem Cie

W dloni utulic, poglaskac,

Pocalowac Twe pioreczka.

Dlaczego uciekasz? To ten

Wredny czlowiek, ktory Cie

Pogania, depcze, ploszy Cie

W chorej przygodzie, przyjemnosci.

Niech sam goni siebie.

Oto stal golabek. Patrzylem sie,

Wpatrywalem sie w jej oczko

Stalem, i skoczylem ku golabku

A ona, pofrunela dalej.

List do Stelli

O! Gwiazdo altansko! Ktora Ty jestes?

Nie mozesz byc ta polarna, wokol ktorej

Wszystkie brylanty nieba pedza, jedne wolniej,

Blizej jej blasku, a inne dalej, szybciej krazac

Po polkuli nocy. A byc moze jestes ta

Najlsniejsza gwiazda Siriusa, ktora swym blaskiem

Przyciemnia kazdy klejnot Nyks, lecz

Ktora swa orbita otacza wszystek swiata

I wiecej, biegnac swoj odwieczny maraton

Przez kazde panstwo kosmosu?

A moze ta planeta milosci, co swym blaskiem

Czari ludzi, lecz wygnana nawet z domu,

Ogrom wszechswiata przechadza, nie jedna

Droga, ale jednym sladem podrozujac sama.

O kwiecie grecki, z polskiej ziemi! Czy Ci

Bog przypisal tulaczke po calej twarzy Ziemi,

By isc w slady Odyseusza, albo za Kosciuszkiem

Ciagnac do brzeg Ameryki, by zostawic ojczyzny Twe

Daleko za Oceanem? Tu inny lud, inny jezyk,

Inne mysli trzeba stosowac, by nawet moc

Probowac ich zrozumiec. A juz

Tesknota znow zaczyna palic serce, rodzic

Lzy za te cieple wody Morza Egejskiego,

Czy za te zdzbla trawy, niby krople, na lakach Polski.

Ale Bogu dziekuje tez, ze pozwolil Ci choc

Gniazdko zbudowac tu, i dzielic sie z tym ludem,

Ze mna, twe piekno duszy i ciala.

Tak! Na jedna noc serce me, i Twe wypelnilas

Radoscia i bojaznia, czarem twego zwroku, tych

Swiecacych niebieskich szafirow. Wieszcz oto

Wypelnil nasz umysl historia Orfeusza i jego

Eurydyki, za muzyka dyskoteki do tanca nas

Checila. I jak lot nasz skonczylismy, to na twym

Skrzydelku caluska polozylem, jako pieczec piekna

Na magicznej nocy. O, jak moglbym zapomniec

Twe blogoslawienstwo, ten promyk gwiezdny,

Ktore jeszcze teraz pali me serce plomykiem

Radosci i dziennym blaskiem tamtej nocy.

O ptaszku! Kiedy znow wiatr twe zlote piorka

Poruszy i twe gniazdko znieci, jakby mowilo:

Juz czas? Tym gorsze jest czekanie na ten dzien,

Jakby okrutny miecz Damoklesa wiszacy,

Ten rozkaz, kiedy raz jeszcze w dal wylecisz.

Ale juz teraz zegnam Cie modlitwa, by Twa odyseja

Skonczyla sie szczesliwie pod tarcza i okiem syrenki,

Tej, ktorej dano byc swadkiem niejednego

Cudu i niejednego wskrzeszenia miasta jej.

A moje „Z Bogiem" niechaj bedzie ta

Wyrocznia: ze gdzie Twoja stopka padnie

Czy w ziemi ojczystej czy nie, wszedzie

Bedziesz przyjeta, i wszedzie zasiejesz

Radosc i milosc wysza od twych siostr niebieskich.

Today

Today will be the best of all remaining,

And never will again another day tomorrow hold

The same brilliance of innocence and childhood,

As this day. So will tomorrow compare with all the years ahead.

For each was born upon the pinnacle of life

When in timeless bliss and the beauty of youth,

Ran in blameless and careless adorance of others and self

Far from the sorrows of the world’s daily life.

(Amen: accursed before God and men are they,

Who steal this earthly paradise from children

And as they stole these precious years from them,

With like measure will the devils, their masters, steal life eternal from them.)

Once he has felt the slip of time, he should

Not worry, for with this foretaste of heaven in mind

And with the scent and sight of flowers in the sun impressed upon

The eye, all else in lower perfection comes easier.

Then do those precious years themselves in perfection

And boundless value grow, and this treasure

Unstealable and secure doth little increase or decrease

With the good and bad of a future that may never come.

And easily going down the hill of life

Each day passes as the golden shadow of that age,

Waning in distance, yet waxing in brightness

Makes each today the highest peak of all to come.

Then all these present moments equally perfect,

In holding that fleeting glow of the birthright of Man,

The child of God, doth the heart equally fill

With joy and expectation of return to that Eden.

Today I will eat my bread, and drink my cup

And delight in the gift now. I got it today, to use it

Today, and no other day, to eat and do and glorify,

And gain another step, another moment in my treasury.

I do not fear tomorrow, for it cannot fill me

When I am already filled with my steps upon the plains

Of heaven. It only beckons me with the time of no tomorrow

When I will run forever a little boy through the endless meadows of God.

Letter to the Chimemasters

Just beneath the blue sky, streaked with white,

Upon the pointed Crown of that high Academy,

You jump and sweat with holy mirth

Conversing with the angels in the clouds.

How wonderous thine joyful trade

That by some miracle you should crush

And hard the heavy wooden rods press

To squeeze out melody, sweet beyond all doubt.

Some precious nectar from this Olympus freely

Falls, to fill each listening heart with glee

That gives wings to downcast eyes

And grace that hope gives to broken spirits.

Thy vision doth I even behold,

My first welcome, my first peal of Mercy,

That spreads wide before me a new Ithaca,

A nest of friends, not vipers – my capital.

Their chorus my eyes to the four sides

Of this world beckons, to see the gay glitter

Of the stray sunrays bathing in the lake,

The apples in their luster courting the warm wind.

Their ring doth endless witness bear,

To these sweets shows that give way to

The last burst of color, before the cold blanket

The world, now teeming, tucks and locks in sleep.

And so in endless succession wheeling,

The bells will the toil of men and animals

Remark, ponder, and celebrate – the power

That exists acknowledge, and bend to serve the will.

So these clinking joys indulge, and propose

My first service to this new nation – with

Double note to let know the children this

Magic moment, the stream that once only is, and flows.

Thus the hour that Goethe hated sound,

And in the way they press the air around

I hear the laughter of my now, and future friends,

The gasps as enlightenment bursts upon the mind.

Sing then! Strong these servants play, whose

Deep tones in marvelous, mystical ecstasy mix.

Let them ever sound over this land under the Master’s

Hand – so long as they ring, hope we still can have.

The Small Things

So much can fit between two hues:

The Academy of America and of Ithaca,

The star that gives life to beings,

The blood of love, or the blood of hate.

So much can be within a minute:

A universe beyond reach expand,

A soul to heaven may fly forth,

Or to hell plunge with a thud.

So much can be within a point:

The difference between almost

And acheived, between just glory

And unjust shame of sulking.

So much can be within an inch:

The light of stars uncounted in milk,

The vessel that life-blood brings,

The difference between hit and miss.

So much can be in a simple act:

The seed of love or hate eternal,

The single yes that salvation will accept

Or the stab that innocence will kill.

So much can be in a word:

The testament of a life well lived,

The wisdom and fountain of life,

Or the sign that betrays a traitor.

This know the sages: there is no hue,

Nor minute, nor inch, nor act or word

Too small to worlds entire discover and

Create, or destroy and burn to ashes.

Requiem for an Apple

Behold what holy rage inside me roils,

The words of anger that now boil, ready

To explode in horror, anguish, forewarning:

In my cry hear the silent tears of