Mów do mnie jeszcze

Za taką rozmową tęskniłem lata.

I first started learning Polish in 1995, at SSEES in London. I am still learning, as anyone who has had the pleasure of hearing me speak will testify.

I remember very little of that first lesson now, except the feeling of the language itself. A language that looked severe on the page and then, when spoken, became unexpectedly musical.

Somewhere in those early lessons I learned a line from Tetmajer:

Za taką rozmową tęskniłem lata.

I had half-forgotten it until today.

Perhaps that is one of the reasons I loved Polish so quickly. It could be hard and tender at the same time. There was something slightly excessive about it, something emotional hiding inside all that grammar. Seven cases, aspect, endings changing constantly and then suddenly a sentence that seemed to say exactly what longing felt like.

I did not know then that Polish would become part of my life. That I would live in Poland, raise children here, work here, love people here, argue in it, joke in it, swear in it, occasionally even think in it.

In 1995 it was simply another language I was trying to learn.

Thirty-one years later, a line comes back:

Za taką rozmową tęskniłem lata.

And with it, perhaps, the memory of why I wanted to keep listening.

“Mów do mnie jeszcze…”

Mów do mnie jeszcze… Za taką rozmową
tęskniłem lata… Każde twoje słowo
słodkie w mem sercu wywołuje dreszcze –
mów do mnie jeszcze…

Mów do mnie jeszcze… Ludzie nas nie słyszą,
słowa twe dziwnie poją i kołyszą,
jak kwiatem, każdem słowem twem się pieszczę –
mów do mnie jeszcze…

“Speak to Me Some More…”

Speak to me some more… For such a conversation
I have longed for years… Every word you utter
sends a sweet shiver through my heart —
speak to me some more…

Speak to me some more… No one can hear us,
your words strangely intoxicate and soothe me;
I cherish every word of yours as though it were a flower —
speak to me some more…

Kazimierz Przerwa-Tetmajer