Symphony no.3 (The Symphony of Sorrowful Songs)

Henryk Górecki

Originale

Traduzione inglese

SYMPHONY NO.3 (THE SYMPHONY OF SORROWFUL SONGS) I Lento - sostenuto tranquillo ma cantabile Synku miły i wybrany, Rozdziel z matką swoje rany, A wszakom cię, synku miły, w swem sercu nosiła, A takież tobie wiernie służyła. Przemów k matce, bych się ucieszyła, Bo już jidziesz ode mnie, moja nadziejo miła. II Lento e largo - tranquillissimo Mamo, nie płacz, nie. Niebios Przeczysta Królowo, Ty zawsze wspieraj mnie. Zdrowaś Mario, Łaskiś Pełna. III Lento - cantabile semplice 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

1. Lento - sostenuto tranquillo ma cantabile 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. 2. Lento e largo - tranquillissimo No, Mother, do not weep, Most chaste Queen of Heaven Help me always. Hail Mary. 3. Lento - cantabile semplice 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. 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.