Great Waves

Image: Hokusai (1760-1849)
The Great Wave
or
The Breaking Wave of Kanagawa
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Children play at being soldiers. But why do soldiers play at being children?
Karl Krauss
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I sometimes think of her when I look up to the stars. I feel her lookin’ down on me, I swear. She’s like an angel of mine – one of many, cuz I need at least a dozen to get by. Sometimes, when the first raindrop of an incoming storm lands on my cheek, I feel her presence and I can almost make out her face in the clouds above. That’s when I get to feeling …
(DPS)

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Where has he gone
My dearest son?
Perhaps during the uprising
The cruel army killed him
Ah, you bad people
In the name of God, the most Holy,
Tell me, why did you kill
My son?
Never again
Will I have his support
Even if I cry
My old eyes out
Were my bitter tears
To create another River Oder
They could not restore to life
My son
He lies in his grave
And I know not where
Though I keep asking people
Everywhere
Perhaps the poor child
Lies in a rough ditch
And instead could be
Lying in his warm bed
Oh, sing for him
God’s little song birds
Since his mother
Cannot find him
And you, God’s little flowers
May you blossom all around
So that my son
May sleep happily
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Folk song originally in the dialect of the Opole region (Poland)
Translation by Krystyna Carter
from Henryk Gorecki, Symphony 3
(P)