Maria Konopnicka was not only a gifted poet and novelist, but she was known for her patriotic and social work. Her poetry has great inspirational and patriotic value. She wrote a famous Rota, which gained a status equal to the national anthem. This poem was originally written as protest against German oppression of Polish population under Prussia. It was first sung publicly during a patriotic demonstration in Austrian-occupied Kraków in 1910, during the 500th anniversary of the Polish-Lithuanian victory over the Teutonic Knights at the Battle of Grunwald. Rota became popular instantly throughout partitioned Poland, eventually serving as an anthem of Polish Scouts. Konopnicka was also very sensitive towards the fate of Polish immigrants in America. She had strong bonds with Polonia, especially with Polish-American women organizations. Still, a couple of months before her death she was planning to go to the US and do the research which will let her to write a similar novel which she wrote before which refer to the fate of Poles in South America entitled “Mister Balcer in Brazil”.

Maria Konopnicka also became a main editor of the journal for women which was so progressive in its views that it became a source of the attacks from the Church and the government. Konopnicka was amazingly courageous woman. She mainly raised her six children by herself. She was also working outside of the house as a teacher, translator, social worker etc. She was also a popular writer of children books.

One of my favorite poems written by Konopnicka is “Dziadek przyjdzie” (Grandfather will visit). It reminds me of my grandfather who used to tell me amazing stories from World War II and what he went through. Even though they were sad stories, he always found something funny and positive in each of them…

Dziadek przyjdzie

Dziadek dzisiaj przyjdzie,

W wielkim krześle siędzie,

Śliczne mi powieści

Opowiadać będzie.

Pal mi się, ogieńku! Pal mi się wesoło!

Wy, złote iskierki, sypcie mi się wkoło!

Dziadek dużo widział,

Dużo ziemi schodził;

Już sam nie pamięta,

Kiedy się urodził.

Pal mi się, ogieńku! Pal mi się wesoło!

Wy, złote iskierki, sypcie mi się wkoło!

Jak nam dziadek zacznie

Prawić różne dziwy,

To świat dawny staje

Przede mną jak żywy.

Pal mi się, ogieńku! Pal mi się wesoło!

Wy, złote iskierki, polatujcie wkoło!

I dawne zagrody,

I ludzie, i pleśnie…

Do rana samego

Marzą mi się we śnie!

Pal mi się, ogieńku! Pal mi się wesoło!

Wy, złote iskierki, polatujcie wkoło!

❀

Grandpa will come today,

In the big chair will sit,

Cute novels

Will tell me

Let the fire burn, fire burn happily

You, gold sparkles, please fly around!

Grandfather has seen a lot

A lot of the land descended;

He doesn’t even remember

When was he born.

Let the fire burn, fire burn happily

You, gold sparkles, please fly around!

As grandfather begins

Telling a variety of wonders,

This old world is

In front of me like a living thing.

Let the fire burn, fire burn happily

You, gold sparkles, please fly around!

And the old homestead,

And the people, and molds …

Till morning

I dream about them!

Let the fire burn, fire burn happily

You, gold sparkles, please fly around!

Do następnego razu… (Till next time…)