Gorecki - Sinfonia n°3 - Testi

First movement:

A mother speaks to her dying son. She is charged with hope, but still aware of his terrible fate.

Polish: Synku mily i wybrany, Rozdziel z matka swoje rany; A wszakom cie, synku mily, w swem sercu nosila, A takiez tobie wiernie sluzyla. Przemow k matce, bych sie ucieszyla, Bo juz jidziesz ode mnie, moja nadzieja mila. 

English: My son, chosen and loved, Let your mother share your wounds And since, my dear son, I have always kept you in my heart, And loyally served you, Speak to your mother, make her happy , Though, my cherished hope, you are now leaving me.

Second movement:

Deep underneath the Gestapo headquarters in Zakopane, inside Cell No.3, on 26th September 1944, the then 18-year-old Helena Wanda Blazusiakówna scratched this prayer to the Queen of Heaven on one of the stone walls that imprisoned her. In a voice of gloom, Helena asks her Mother not to cry for her, thus linking this prayer to the previous where she mourns her dying son.

Polish: Mamo, nie placz, nie. Niebios Przeczysta Królowo, Ty zawsze wspieraj mnie. Zdrowas Mario.  

English: No, Mother, do not weep, Most chaste Queen of Heaven Help me always. Hail Mary.¹

¹This line before translation, "Zdrowas Mario" (Ave Maria), is the opening of the Polish prayer to the Holy Mother.

Final movement:

A mother weeps for her son, killed by the enemy.  

Polish:

Kajze mi sie podziol
moj synocek mily?
Pewnie go w powstaniu
zle wrogi zabily.

Wy niedobrzy ludzie,
dlo Boga swietego
cemuscie zabili
synocka mojego?

Zodnej jo podpory
juz nie byda miala,
chocbych moje stare
ocy wyplakala.

Chocby z mych lez gorkich
drugo Odra byla,
jesce by synocka
mi nie ozywila.

Lezy on tam w grobie,
a jo nie wiem kandy,
choc sie opytuja
miedzy ludzmi wsandy.

Moze nieborocek
lezy kay w dolecku,
a moglby se lygac
na swoim przypiecku.

Ej, cwierkejcie mu tam,
wy ptosecki boze,
kiedy mamulicka
znalezc go nie moze.

A ty, boze kwiecie,
kwitnijze w okolo,
niech sie synockowi
choc lezy wesolo.

English:
Where has he gone,
My dearest son?
Killed by the harsh enemy, perhaps,
In the rebellion.
You bad people,
In the name of the Holy God,
Tell me why you killed
My dear son.

Never more
Will I have his protection,
Even if I weep
My old eyes away,
Or if my bitter tears
Were to make another River Oder,
They would not bring back
My son to life.

He lies in the grave
I know not where
Though I ask people
Everywhere
Perhaps the poor boy
Lies in a rough trench
Instead of lying, as he might,
In a warm bed.

Sing for him,
Little song-birds of God,
For his mother
Cannot find him.
And God's little flowers,
May you bloom all around
So that my son
May sleep happily. 

(fonte: internet)