Górecki’s Symphony No. 3

I
My son, my chosen and beloved
Share your wounds with your mother
And because, dear son, I have always carried you in my heart,
And always served you faithfully
Speak to your mother, to make her happy,
Although you are already leaving me, my cherished hope.
(Lamentation of the Holy Cross Monastery from the “Lysagóra Songs” collection. Second half of the 15th century)
II
No, Mother, do not weep,
Most chaste Queen of Heaven
Support me always.
“Zdrowas Mario.” (*)
(Prayer inscribed on wall 3 of cell no. 3 in the basement of “Palace,” the Gestapo’s headquarters in Zadopane; beneath is the signature of Helena Wanda Blazusiakówna, and the words “18 years old, imprisoned since 26 September 1944.”)
(*) “Zdrowas Mario” (Ave Maria)—the opening of the Polish prayer to the Holy Mother
III
Where has he gone
My dearest son?
Perhaps during the uprising 
The cruel enemy killed him
Ah, you bad people
In the name of God, the most Holy,
Tell me, why did you kill
My son?
Never again
Will I have his support
Even if I cry
My old eyes out
Were my bitter tears
to create another River Oder
They would not restore to life
My son
He lies in his grave
and I know not where
Though I keep asking people
Everywhere
Perhaps the poor child
Lies in a rough ditch
and instead he could have been
lying in his warm bed
Oh, sing for him
God’s little song-birds
Since his mother 
Cannot find him
And you, God’s little flowers
May you blossom all around
So that my son
May sleep happily
(Folk song in the dialect of the Opole region)

I
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.
Lament świętokrzyski
z “Pieśni łysogórskich”
(druga połowa XV w.)
II
Mamo, nie płacz, nie.
Niebios Przeczysta Królowo,
Ty zawsze wspieraj mnie.
Zdrować Mario, Łaskiś Pełna.
Zakopane “Pałace”
cela nr 3 ściana nr 3
Błazusiakówna Helena Wanda
lat 18 siedzi od 25 IX 44
III
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
fragment Pieśni ludowej z opolskiego.
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