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POETRY CORNER

OUR KOCIEWIE

(Where the rivers of Wda and Wierzyca

(Dzie Wierzyca, Wda)

With the song of silver waves

(Przy śrebrnym fal śpiewie)

Flow their waters afar

(Niesó woda w dal)

That's where our Kociewie is

(Tam nasze Kociewie)

BERNARD SYCHTA - written in Poland

TO THE ALLANTON POLISH PIONEERS

From far across the sea they came,

A pioneering band

To look for homes, in peace to dwell

Far from the tyrant's hand.

They found this peace, beneath the hill

A river running by,

And so in hope they settled down

Their talent here to ply.

With gratitude they struggled on

Their task - it wasn't light,

They started out before the dawn

And worked into the night.

The railway line was soon laid down

And difficulties overcome,

Success had smiled on them at last

They'd found a peaceful home.

Their wants were few, those simple folk

Who came from o'er the sea,

They made the best of what they had

They carved their destiny.

They left to us a legacy

From those far days of yore,

The haven here beneath the hill

We'll cherish evermore.

ELSIE CAMPBELL Nee TURNBULL life long resident of Allanton.

KOCIEWIE (OUR ANCESTORS HOME)

Sunbeams, through sullen skies it pokes,

Cloaking waves of golden slopes.

Of crimson poppies, threads of wheat,

Ears of corn & fields of beet.

Sprawling woods of life abundant,

Herb, game, never redundant.

Dotted mushrooms, berries galore,

Gentle deer & wild boar.

Glacier lakes concealed like jewels,

Lazy rivers, tranquil pools.

Villages strewn on stretching plains,

Trees shelter cobble stone lanes.

Baroque churches, holy pictures,

Bestow peace to whom enriches.

Scarred of war, & worked to the bone,

So lies our ancestor's home.

PAUL KLEMICK - 2003

ODE TO THE KOCIEWIAN MIGRANT

Hospitable, simplistic, hardworking & kind,

Superstitious, religious, stubborn of mind.

Trustworthy & honest, imperative to man,

For these are the traits of a Kociewian.

Six days of the week for all work and no play,

For the noble, the manor, the priest of the day.

But as for the Sabbath, a moment of rest,

A time for our Saviour, clad in their best.

Young men duty calls, oppressors are reaping,

Hard times & no land, their mothers are weeping.

Poland is gripped by an aggressive tyrant,

Time is neigh for the Kociewian migrant.

Prospect of freedom, adventure and chances,

Modest ships, mighty seas, making advances.

New birth, fresh beginnings, like that of the spring,

New Zealand they come, Polish culture they bring.

PAUL KLEMICK – 2003.

BAUMGARDT FAMILY REUNION

FAREWELL

(Na Pozegnanie) - Polish

How quickly fly the moments,

How swiftly flees the time!

A day, a year, a moment,

Soon we'll be on our way.

Young years are full of pleasure,

But quickly they pass by.

Our hearts weighed down with sorrow,

Sadness we can't deny.

But should our fortune change then,

Bind broken links anew,

With song and clasp of hand then,

Joyous hours we'll renew.

Who were they, the hundred years ago

Who built this cottage, sun baked cob,

Who sat together in the firelight glow,

Who put the kettle on the hob

Who sat and talked 'til the fire grew dim

Sharing dreams, tomorrows dreams

Loving arms, and loving lips

That knew no other one.

Her picture hangs still on the wall,

Bonnet of blue to match her eyes,

Who was she this classic one

proud face, pale in the candlelight,

Waiting for him to come to her,

Take her picture from the wall,

Walk with her to the other room

To pull the dust stained curtain 'cross the doorway.

I close the door, leave her there in her solitude

And turning see the warming window glow

A whisp of smoke on the autumn air

Two shadows on the window pane.

I wonder,

Is the kettle on the hob again tonight.

KEVIN GDANITZ