Anna Swirszczynska poems
Anna Swirszczynska[Anna Swir] (1909 - 1984 / Warsaw)
The Second Madrigal
- by Anna Swirszczynska 19
A night of loveexquisite as a
concert from old Venice
played on exquisite instruments.
Healthy as a
buttock of a little angel.
Wise as an
anthill.
Garish as air
blown into a trumpet.
Abundant as the reign
of a royal Negro couple
seated on two thrones
cast in gold.
A night of love with you,
a big baroque battle
and two victories.
He Was Lucky
- by Anna Swirszczynska 16
The old manleaves his house, carries books.
A German soldier snatches his books
flings them in the mud.
The old man picks them up,
the soldier hits him in the face.
The old man falls,
the soldier kicks him and walks away.
The old man
lies in mud and blood.
Under him he feels
the books.