The author of this poem – ANNA KUTEK, British artist and analytical

The author of this poem – ANNA KUTEK, British artist and analytical psychologist,
is a daughter of Ensign „Poraj” (J. Korwin-Szymanowska), paramedic with the
Polish Resistance movement during the WW II. A variant translation into French
by CHRISTIAN RAGUET, follows the English text.
The Rail Workers' Union Building
Dom Kolejowy
In Memoriam of the Fallen and as a Tribute to the Survivors
Warsaw 1 August - 4 October 1944
Introductory note: This is a fragment from the life of a small and very young1
company of the Polish National Armed Forces (Narodowe Siły Zbrojne - NSZ), which
fought alongside the much larger countrywide Resistance movement, the Home Army
(Armia Krajowa, AK), against Nazi occupation of Poland during World War II. The
Polish underground movement was made up of a myriad of structures, inspired by a
range of political ideologies. It worked in accord with the Polish Government in
Exile, based in London. Although initially focused on a single enemy, the groupings
remained fractious among themselves throughout the conflict. Their relations became
increasingly polarized as the Nazi occupation yielded to Soviet entrenchment on
Polish territory and the Soviets raced for the guilded prize that awaited them in
Berlin.
Already occupied for five years, the Poles found themselves at the centre of a hostile
pincer movement, all but abandoned by Allied support and facing two fronts. They
were consigned to a further 45 years of occupation, countersigned by the Yalta
Agreement, in which they had no part. A nation carved up by three "super powers" at
the time of the American War of Independence, which had endured 120 years of
systematic annihilation, was once more, subjected to a carve up. The "settlement"
after the First World War had offered a brief breathing space to Poland as a free
state, which lasted barely twenty years. It is during this "interregnum" that most of
the participants in this tale were born and raised, nurtured by the recent memory of
trans-generational insults to their identity and threats to their very survival as a
people.
Members of the National Armed Forces came largely from professional families and
included Polish Jews and women. Arguably, their alleged "elitism" bore the seeds of
their ultimate undoing, undoubtedly not helped at that time, by associations to the
adjective 'National'. The story of the occupants of the Rail Workers' Union Building
and their engagement in the Warsaw Uprising in the late summer of 1944 is a
confounding testament to their youth, discipline and resolve in the face of
overwhelming external odds. It was coupled with their allegiance to the National
Armed Forces' initial opposition to the idea of an armed uprising in Warsaw, as a
completely doomed project. This accounts for the lack of prior warning about the
start date of the insurrection, which they joined 'spontaneously' in its first week. In
addition to their approximately 50% losses in the Uprising, and imprisonment by the
Nazis, they were by passed for military honours by the broader Underground
movement, slandered by them, and by others, as "collaborators" and "Jew
1 The majority were late teenage to early twenties. A few, however, were as young as fourteen. © Ann Kutek 1 murderers". They were later hounded, imprisoned and sometimes killed by Moscow's
vassal government installed in Warsaw in 1945.
Owing to its location on an escarpment above the main railway line into Warsaw, of
critical strategic importance to the occupiers, The Rail Workers Union Building, a
six-floor office block very close to the Frontline, was never a realistic target for
German bombing. Thanks to the ingenuity of its insurgent occupants, it had a further
advantage in having been plugged into the railway's independent electricity supply
and not the city grid. This enabled a discreet water pump (connected to the railway
fire defences) to operate in its capacious cellar, and there, for a time, a small mill
produced flour from grain "acquired" in German stores. Moreover, its other defences
were neighbouring blocks in the area of Starynkiewicz Square containing: The
Tourist Office, the Army Geographical Institute, the Area Council Offices and the
Area Treasury.
The "Warszawianka" Company, as the merged units housed in the Rail Workers'
Union Building came to be known, played a pivotal role in sorties and supporting
other units' fluctuating fortunes. During operations, some 170 insurgents belonged to
the Company. Unfortunately, its battle log is lost, except for an anonymous and
"laconic" two-week battle diary housed in a London library. The persons who appear
are the actual participants under their resistance code names, anglicised here and
there for the sake of pronunciation. Warsaw street names are translated for similar
reasons.
The Building was surrendered to the enemy only at the final capitulation of the
Warsaw Uprising.
Summer 2014 marks the 70th anniversary of the outbreak of the Warsaw Uprising.
Genesis of this work: On Good Friday 2014, the author of this narrative was able,
fortuitously, to bring together for the first time in 70 years, "K", one of the fighters in
this saga, with the "angel" who saved his life from a bomb blast, the nurse, "Amor".
Fate led them both out of the hellhole, to Canada, and they are still alive today only a
few thousand miles apart.
The story has of course, terrible echoes, among others, for Sarajevo, Kigali,
Damascus and now for Ukraine.
The bullet scored wall of the Rail Workers' Union
Building, Dom Kolejowy. (Photo M. Szymanski, 2009)
© Ann Kutek 2 A plaque commemorating the "Warszawianka" Company, part of the Chrobry II unit. The Company occupied the Rail Workers' Union Building, Dom Kolejowy. (Photo, M. Szymanski, 2009) © Ann Kutek 3 Captain Piotr Zacharewicz, aka "Zawadzki", Commandant of the "Warszawianka" Company, Housed in the Rail Workers' Union Building, Dom Kolejowy. Zacharewicz, a trained engineer, was a "hidden Jew" who survived the Uprising and became a prisoner of war. After the Liberation he moved to Belgium where he changed his name to Peter Talbot. From there he emigrated to Australia. He died in Sydney in 1963, aged 50. He is warmly remembered by the survivors of his company who say he was not only an effective strategist but highly respected by his troops. (Photo supplied by M. Szymanski) © Ann Kutek 4 This is part of the street plan of the Warsaw, the quarter where the "Warszawianka"
Company was active throughout the Warsaw Uprising, 1st August to 2nd October
1944. They occupied the Rail Workers' Union Building, Dom Kolejowy, towards the
bottom left of the plan, next to the railway-line, surrounded by Nazi strongholds.
(Plan supplied by M. Szymański - April 2014)
"Ja, walkę o Wielka Polskę uważam za najważniejszy cel mego życia Mając szczera i nieprzymuszona wole służyć Ojczyźnie aż do ostatniej kropli krwi -­‐ Wstępuje do Narodowych Sil Zbrojnych. Przysięgam Panu Bogu ..."2 From the NSZ Military Pledge 2 Wiktor Natanson "Humięcki". He was only 14 years old at the Uprising and of Jewish descent. nsz.com.pl/index.php/wspomnienia/366-­‐humiecki © Ann Kutek 5 Dom Kolejowy
A Poem for Voices and Chorus
Canto 1
Look into eyes that have seen
Things you cannot imagine,
Into eyes that see this Troy destroyed,
Laid to waste, a smoking heap now,
As fly like specks of dust settle
In a humid autumn mist
On the rigor of battlements and fallen stacks.
A low shuffle, barely a voice raised,
Marshalled civilian streams coagulate,
Leave.
The breeze alleviates the drone of stench,
Notes of cordite carbon and flesh.
This pyre, a city? You are having a laugh.
In the time elapsed since the sack,
The writer of Q has already etched
His annals of the risen Christ
And pressed the urgent signals
To the farthest reaches of empire.
Two, three generations have passed What were you saying?
O my Jerusalem where are you?
Helmeted Greeks are all over,
And to the East - a Monstrum waits,
Spread by a ribbon of radiant water
Its sinews oiled, and braced
To devour its exhausted quarry.
Easter 2014
Canto II
The poet said:
Let me sing to you of arms, of women and men,
Where have all the flowers gone, long time passing?
They lie long mute under the metropolis,
Their comrades withering through seventy summers,
Scattered to all corners of the earth.
© Ann Kutek 6 The battalion of the betrayed regroups again,
Hoists the standard, salutes, remembers.
With every beat of the heart, every day, remembers.
Part of them died too, as did hope, over sixty
And, three days.
They said:
The Greeks are beyond their tether,
We have primed our own horse,
Its belly filled with chaps and amo,
We will get supplies from the sky.
Watch, three days and the bastards will be blitzed.
The poet said:
The planners who have tricked their own men
Are drunk on hubris, not detained
By "treason - the truest crime on earth"3.
Instead, asinine, they send these lions to their death.
Only the few, like Aeneas, will wander abroad.
Canto III
Commandant Lig4 hits the ground running,
His polygon framed by streets portentously
Called: Hemp, Hard, Iron, Gold and Cool.
He raises his soldiery, named for late King Chrobry.
Late he is, the name is taken, so Chrobry II it is.
Three days' hard struggle in Downtown,
Almost to Central Station, brings its reward.
They come upon Mazur's men.
Together, on August fourth, they enter
The Rail Workers' Union Building.
Collecting arms from Slippery Street,
With Mstislav's detail, on the morrow,
Their assault wins the Main Post Office.
In concert with volunteers and other units
Their ranks close in on Iron Street.
With a force of fifty boosted by infantrymen,
Zawadzki rises to Commander of the platoon,
Their HQ: The Rail Workers' Union Building.
By sixth August, his reorganization complete,
He signals Zygmunt of his battle readiness.
3 Simon Armitage, "Sir Gawain And the Green Knight", 2007. faber and faber 4 "Lig" perished on August 4th 1944. © Ann Kutek 7 Zawadzki and his troops accept Zygmunt's lead.
On August eighth they and Chrobry II merge.
Of this union, the "Warszawianka" Company is born.
They are commissioned to entrench to the south
Of Jerusalem Avenue, the enemy's top thoroughfare.
Canto IV
The first few days of surprise and skirmish
Declare a precipitous inequality of arms;
Pistols, rifles and carbines ranged against
Automatic fire, tanks and heavy artillery.
Only steely cunning and can defy superiority.
Beginner's luck or call it a fluke,
The strike on the Main Post Office,
Yields an orderly enemy rout,
Weaponry, uniforms and postal orders
Almost handed over on a plate.
Three days later, an assault on Police HQ,
Turns tables on a ten man team, skewered
Down to two for poor reconnaissance.
The officer leading breaks down and,
In his flight undermines troop confidence.
Downtown, Dąbrowski 's regiment occupies
The National Philharmonic Hall. Daily,
Before breakfast they pray except, today,
A railway artillery shell pierces into the cellars:
Fifty, clad in paper, are interred in Peace Square.
Awaited Allied air drops, so essential
For they carry equipment and supplies,
Tarry and when they do finally arrive,
Fly too high, to avoid hostile strikes.
So mostly miss or hit inside enemy lines.
Canto V
Such is the vigour of the fight,
That Witold, lately escaped from Auschwitz,
Volunteers for active service in the fray,
He enters the ranks of the ubiquitous AK
To inhibit enemy movement along Jerusalem Avenue.
© Ann Kutek 8 Lest units fighting on the southern flank be cut off,
They are made to retreat to the relative safety
Over the railway, on the northern edge of the Avenue.
It is August twelfth. For Warszawianka,
This front line remains unaltered to the last.
On the Eastern flank, by Fir and Gold Streets,
Gurt’s units valiantly join Battle
While to the West, beyond Iron Street,
The team from the Station Post Office
Give continuous fierce fire cover.
The Barricade mounted on the viaduct above the railway,
Manned by Rail Building and Post Office teams
Runs astride Iron Street and effectively covers
Otherwise unhindered enemy firing lines
Deep into the heart of Chrobry II territory,
.
Warszawianka's strategic frontline on Jerusalem Avenue,
With her reserved bastion and its doughty defenders
Enables her to feed, support and fend for
Other units active throughout Chrobry II's sectors,
Never at rest or safe from enemy cannonades.
Canto VI
K5 remembers:
Twelve days into the Uprising we join Chrobry II.
As officer cadets, with Bogusławski, we have not been idle.
At five pm, "W" hour, August first, we leave the house,
To the insistent clatter of machine gun fire in the distance.
Streets are festooned with red and white and thronged with crowds.
That same day, communications officer Żuliński arrives.
He, along with the rest, led by Platoon Sergeant Paciorek,
Is caught unawares.
Nobody is armed, but well equipped with field telephony.
Our number swells by the hour.
The next day, Bogusławski finds a local AK command post.
As if out of thin air, we are joined by
Rawicz, Trzepałko, Rzecki, Tadeusz and Mestwin and others.
AK commander, Radwan, takes us under his wing.
We become a platoon of unarmed gendarmes.
5 "Kruczkowski", code name for Maciej Szymański © Ann Kutek 9 With only distinctive red and white arm bands,
We get to a printing works to receive orders.
The task is to patrol and look out for snipers
Who perch on Downtown rooftops with the aim
Of picking off civilians, going about their business.
Meanwhile we connect with the NSZ command.
After due negotiations, we transfer as a unit,
To Warszawianka's Jerusalem Avenue front.
Reaching there takes us under city walkways,
Through caved-in sign-posted brazier-hot cellars.
The thirty of us move stealthily at dead of night
Creeping round sleeping human forms,
Stunned to be met by military bureaucracy
Quite as exacting, as the civilian sort.
Twelve days in, and we remain unarmed.
By the time we merge with the company,
The south side of Jerusalem Avenue is lost.
Great courage and much blood spilt for nought.
We close the Avenue to traffic and strand
The railway by dismantling its rail tracks.
An enemy offensive tries to retake the Avenue,
Three weeks in, their tank shells hit Iron Street.
They shun entry by the viaduct, convinced it is mined.
They believe our minds work like theirs. It is not.
A solitary barricade blocks Iron Street.
The foe falls into a costly trap on Hard Street, then
Late in August, Zdunin's counter-offensive
On the Freight Depot gives them a hiding.
The prize is a haul of machine guns and
They eschew further attempts to retake the Avenue.
Canto VII
Constant vigilance and safeguarding the sector
Consumes only part of our resources and we are able
To support other Chrobry II actions and beyond.
We aid especially our neighbours under Zdunin,
Re-arm and despatch forces to areas in acutest danger.
It is a close call four weeks in, when tanks progress
Towards Hartwig's warehouse in a cloud of dust.
Their firing advantage is fearsome, the front wall falls,
The platoon retreats further in. They lose one tank,
At Borman's works they lose a second. They withdraw.
© Ann Kutek 10 A few days later, it is night and we join
Old Town forces in a two pronged attack.
Both actions end in failure. We return to
The Rail Building for respite - as a distraction,
We perch on the roof and pick off the foe below.
Family life becomes improbable, inoperable,
Snatched visits to shifting, ailing loved ones.
A gregarious friend sharing scraps of supper
Suddenly lurches off his chair in mid sentence
Shot through the window by a wandering bullet.
And yet, and yet, the uncanny invades regardless.
The cellar of the Rail Workers' Union Building
Hosts a four-legged resident - a white horse!
The old nag's retirement is cut short by stray ordnance.
Our Spartan diet improves with goulash surprise!
Canto VIII
Early September, from God knows where,
The air is full of talk of an impending attack.
Their design is said to be on Jerusalem Avenue,
But such a wide boulevard beside such a deep trench,
Surely, even with massed tanks it is a risk too far?
From time immemorial, in wars-ante-mobiles,
Suspicion falls on quiescence and
Disinformation is rife. No phone or radio, no press:
At dead of night, nerves on edge, a moving shade,
Quiet. Then a flash, a crack echoes, silence - a mutt.
Seventh September, heavy air raids on our district,
Bombs set houses alight, burning like matchsticks,
Without access to water, fire walks the streets,
The sky is lit up, then shaded by palls of smoke,
We are utterly helpless.
Eighth September, from Borman's blasted works,
We have a look out onto the railway line below.
A well-armed panzer train appears with gun turrets,
At its head a stately steam locomotive heaves and stops.
We sweat. It heaves, whistles and reverses slowly. We strafe it.
The next day we are moved to skeletal Raven Street,
Embers of the bombed out houses still smoke,
Some are theirs, some still ours. We are in an open attic,
Across the road, at our height, a green canvas stirs.
We fire, it slumps. We spy the soles of jack boots.
© Ann Kutek 11 Canto IX
Now is the time of our greatest test.
The enemy deploys howitzers and
Mine launchers that bellow like cows
As they defecate into people's homes,
Slicing through any protrusion in their path.
We are saturated with bomb blasts,
Falling masonry, plaster dust so thick,
Mixed with smoke that we grind to breath.
We are tricked from day into night,
From life into death, and yet robotic, we act.
The floor begins to tremble underfoot,
Not much point in hanging around here,
We head for the stairs, gingerly go down,
We are almost at street level, three of us,
And a female nurse, as the lowing gets near.
I reach the bottom in the covered archway,
Suddenly, the nurse yanks me by the shoulder,
I bend backwards; there is an almighty blow,
The noise is petrifying. I am sprawled on the stone.
I cannot find any breath.
The stairway we have just come down
Is gone, swept clean out by the mine.
We are severely shaken and bloodied, but in one piece.
Our faithful machine gun is safe, though we have no amo.
All I know is the "angel" who saved my life is Amor.
Canto X
Our return to the Rail Worker's Union Building
Usually means relative peace and a paltry meal.
Now and then, our pet burglar, turned quartermaster,
Sources a tinned feast of beef and disposable asparagus!
But really, it is a chance to catch up on some sleeping.
Of our eight enemy captives, seven remain.
One escaped, the others prefer to share our fate.
We dress their wounds, and afford them food,
While they rest away from uncertain orders
Or face a fatal reckoning for getting caught.
© Ann Kutek 12 Mid September, two weeks since the Old Town went,
They have captured the embankment and now,
Another offensive, they are closing in on Hemp Street.
We send a detail in support to man the barricades and
Defend our buildings behind New World Street.
We are unprepared for the grim pantomime to follow.
From the East, drops in jute bags tied with string,
Land on ruins: food spills into cracks, arms break on impact.
Then, unannounced, uncoordinated, there appears
A discordant landing party, straight from "central casting".
Not to be out done, the stars and stripes send,
A massive cascade of tilting parachutes,
Raining down anyhow onto a gaping city
Bearing armoured gifts of weapons, rations,
Medicines, by sod's law: mainly into enemy hands.
Canto XI
The few pieces that do come our way,
Stick, or do not fit our ordnance anyway.
For the record and for the shame of it,
Brave Captain Probst6 lays down his life,
Before a tank, Molotov cocktail in hand.
Now the rickety game of chance plays out,
Like dominos districts fall: September twenty two,
Czerniaków, September twenty seven Mokotów,
September thirty, Żoliborz. So they negotiate.
October first, hold fire - let the ravaged people out.
The Rail Workers' Union Building plays its part,
We have a tight little tunnel under Iron Street,
Which we spruce up for the ease of our command,
In their passage for talks, on how to disband.
October second, we capitulate and we have terms.
They accept the Geneva Convention applies.
October fifth, our fighters are rounded up,
Loaded into cattle trucks, destination unknown,
With the proviso - not for extermination But for waste in POW camps in their paradise.
6 "Proboszcz" judged to be a man of rare courage. © Ann Kutek 13 Chorus
What un-payable debt to expectant youth,
What unfeasible objectives thrust upon them,
What craven apocalypse visited on city folk,
Now haunts the bunkered grey-beards
As they sue for cease fire and a certain yoke?
What care, what heed for this Troy
Whose elegant elevations Bellotto caught
With his brush to shame the barbarian's clout
While he brazenly topples Palladio's order,
Wrecking the bowl of many musicians' joy?
And old men joke,
Unpicking the tapestry of history,
Playing dice with their own kin,
Peddling illusory Freedom,
While their trusting young
Leap mindless into disaster,
At the risk of un-being,
Willing only to win.
Two, three generations have passed What were you saying?
O my Jerusalem where are you?
© Ann Kutek 14 Canto XII
Epilogue:
In the twenty first century, one as innocent as you,
Sits reading the memories of old derring-do
And falls upon little nurse Cenia's tales of ordeals,
Of comradely endeavours and uncertainties of war.
She speaks of A, whom the boys had named Amor.
It is Good Friday 2014, and this scribe, another AK,
Sees Amor in a new light - not merely her Ontarian Godmother.
Reads on and insistently appear the memoirs of K:
Too long, too fulsome and detailed too tired to bother,
But one word looms from his text, nowt but Amor.
Two, three generations have passed What were you saying?
Not once, not twice, but more, K wondered
Who was she, would that I remembered?
Who was she who saved my life, called only Amor?
Let the aeons of time be conquered and recede,
Put fate to the test and risk an unfathomable leap,
Is K still with us in the land of the living?
Is he still sound and receiving? At ease, but first,
Do an old fighter a favour quench his thirst!
Good day, Sir: if it is Amor you seek,
I have per chance her name, my Ontarian Godmother.
No havering, but sure-footed strikes the challenging riposte:
How did you know I seek Amor, how did you get my e-mail,
And may I have her address?
Wait.
I'll have to ask her.
They, withering over seventy summers,
Scattered to all corners of the earth,
Far, far from the smoking pyres of Troy
Waiting all this while to see honour repaid,
From British Columbia, via London7, to Lynden - Ontario,
Ere they pass into history K has honoured his A.
7 London, UK. © Ann Kutek 15 Poem available in English as “The Envoy of Mr. Cogito,” translated by Bogdana and
John Carpenter, from Selected Poems of Zbigniew Herbert. Mr. Cogito (1993),
Oxford University Press, Ltd.
Zbigniew Herbert (29 October 1924 – 28 July 1998) was a Polish poet, essayist,
drama writer and moralist. A member of the Polish resistance movement, Home
Army (AK), during World War II, he is one of the best known and the most translated
post-war Polish writers. He was a distant relative of the 17th-century English poet
George Herbert. (Wikipedia)
© Ann Kutek 16 Afterword
On 5th October 1944, the insurgent survivors of the Warsaw Uprising were rounded
up and taken prisoner. They went from POW camp to camp, as the Reich retreated
from the Allied and Soviet onslaught. It was the first time women fighters were made
prisoners of war.
The toll on the civilians and the fabric of the city was immense and unprecedented in
modern times. Civilian dead over the period of two months are estimated at 200,000
with a further such number of displaced or people taken to concentration or forced
labour camps in the Reich. Military casualties, dead and wounded on both sides, were
in tens of thousands. An enraged Führer ordered Warsaw to be razed to the ground
and the Germans set it alight. Added to the earlier devastation of the Ghetto, they
were 84% successful.
The architects of the Uprising had hoped their strategy would spread to the whole of
German occupied territory, be sufficiently supported by the Allies and finally pay off
as a bargaining counter with Moscow. It was timed to coincide with an (unsuccessful)
attempt on Hitler's life and a weakened German war machine. The gamble was an
unmitigated failure and among the bleakest chapters of the War. Put another way, it
was a convulsion of psychotic self-destruction in an already pre-existing psychotic
situation.
Acknowledgements
In gratitude for being infinitely patient and generous, for being there and for allowing
this scribe to use your memories: Alina Kośmider Bromke, "Amor", Julita Korwin
Szymanowska, "Poraj", Maciej Szymański, "Kruczkowski", all surviving fighters and
occupants of the Rail Workers Union Building - gone abroad. Special thanks also to
Mr Maciej Szymański of Vancouver for the photos and street plan extract of Warsaw
under Nazi occupation.
Bibliography
Armitage, S. 2007 "Sir Gawain And the Green Knight". London, faber and faber Korwin Szymanowska, J. 2014 "Łożysko Wspomnień" London, unpublished MS.
Notki z tagiem 'NSZ', powstanie44.blog.pl
Rutkowski, J. and Kuciewicz, Z. Ed. 1996, "Kampania 'Warszawianka' Narodowych
Sił Zbrojnych w Powstaniu Warszawskim" Warszawa
Szymański, M. 1998, "Ja-Jo pamięta - Powstanie Warszawskie", Chapter 7,
nsz.com.pl
Żebrowski Leszek, "Narodowe Siły Zbrojne w Powstaniu Warszawskim", nsz.com.pl
Glossary of Street names
Cool
Gold
Hemp
Raven
© Ann Kutek Chłodna
Złota
Chmielna
Wronia
Fir
Hard
Iron
Slippery
Sosnowa
Twarda
Żelazna
Śliska
17 L'Immeuble du Syndicat des Cheminots
Dom Kolejowy
(Variante de Christian Raguet)
Poème pour solistes et chœur
Chant I
Regardez dans ces yeux blessés d’avoir trop vu
De choses que nul ne saurait imaginer,
Ces yeux qui ont vu la ville de Troie détruite,
Morne étendue de ruines, amas gris et fumant,
Où affluent les mouches tels des grains de poussière
Dans l’automne brumeuse elles s’installent sur
Les miettes de remparts, les cheminées déchues.
Voici des pas traînants, à peine troublés par
Un rare murmure : en rangs serrés s’écoulant
Des flots de civils se rejoignent, coagulent,
S’éloignent.
La brise dissipe les fétides odeurs,
Mélange de cordite, de carbone et de chair.
Ce bûcher, une ville ? Un rire vous échappe.
Depuis le sac, l’auteur de Q a eu le temps
De graver ses chroniques du Christ ressuscité
D’envoyer des signaux aux confins de l’Empire.
Deux ou trois générations se sont succédé –
Que disiez-vous ? Ô Jérusalem, où es-tu ?
Les Grecs aux casques lourds, ils ont tout envahi,
Tandis qu’aux confins de l’est un Monstre est tapi
Qui étend derrière un ruban d’eau rayonnante
Ses ondulations huileuses et se prépare
À dévorer toute crue sa proie épuisée.
Chœur
Attaqués d’un côté et assiégés de l’autre,
Quel est le danger qu’ils doivent craindre le plus ?
Chant II
Le poète dit :
Je veux chanter les armes, les femmes et les hommes.
Où toutes les fleurs sont-elles allées depuis ?
Muettes elles reposent, sous la métropole,
Leurs camarades dispersés aux quatre coins
Se sont flétris durant soixante-dix étés.
Le bataillon des hommes trahis se reforme,
Il hisse l’étendard, salue et se souvient.
À chaque battement de cœur, il se souvient
De tous ceux qui sont morts, comme mourut l’espoir,
Après s’être battus soixante-trois journées.
Ils disent : Les Grecs sont vraiment à bout de force.
Nous avons harnaché notre propre cheval,
Rempli son ventre de braves avec leurs armes,
Et puis du ciel viendra le ravitaillement.
Les bâtards, dans trois jours, seront pulvérisés.
Ces soi-disant chefs ont dupé leurs propres hommes.
Enivrés d’insolence, non retenus qu’ils sont
Par « la trahison, le pire crime qui soit1 »,
Ces imbéciles envoient leurs lions à la mort.
Seuls certains en réchapperont et, tel Énée,
Iront parcourir le monde, dit le poète.
Chant III
Le commandant Lig2 frappe le sol, il arpente
De sa zone les rues aux noms de bon augure
Du Chanvre, Dure, du Fer, de l’Or ou bien Fraîche.
À sa troupe il donna le nom du roi Chrobry3,
Le Vaillant, et ce sera alors Chrobry II.
Un farouche combat, trois jours en centre-ville,
Aux abords de la gare, mérite récompense.
Ils tombent par hasard sur les hommes de Mazur.
Ensemble, le 4 août, les voilà qui pénètrent
Dans l’immeuble du syndicat des cheminots.
Après avoir touché des armes Rue Glissante,
Avec des soldats de Mstislav, le lendemain,
1
Simon Armitage, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, 2007, Faber and Faber. 2
« Lig », son nom de guerre, mourut le 4 août 1944. Toutes les personnes mentionnées ici sont
identifiées par leur nom de guerre. 3
Chrobry : nom propre, forme archaïque en polonais de « vaillant ».
Ils vont prendre d’assaut la Poste principale.
Avec des volontaires et d’autres unités,
Leur position est proche de la Rue du Fer.
Zawadzki4 prend la tête de ce peloton,
Un groupe de cinquante avec des fantassins,
Dans l’immeuble du syndicat des cheminots.
Le 6 août, la réorganisation s’achève,
Il annonce à Zygmunt qu’il est prêt à combattre.
La troupe Zawadzki est menée par Zygmunt.
Le 8 août, ils fusionnent avec Chrobry II.
Se crée ainsi la compagnie Warszawianka.
On leur demande de se retrancher au sud
De l’Avenue de Jérusalem, ennemie.
Chœur
La Ville, la ville se rebelle,
Outragée, les armes à la main.
Chant IV
Les premiers engagements – effet de surprise –
Démontrent l’inégalité des armements.
Pistolets, fusils et carabines s’opposent
Aux mitrailleuses, chars, et artillerie lourde.
Mais la ruse atténue leur supériorité.
Chance des débutants, appelez-le coup de veine,
Le raid audacieux sur la Poste principale
Met en déroute l’ennemi si ordonné,
Matériels, uniformes et mandats postaux
Nous sont ainsi presque fournis sur un plateau.
Mais un assaut sur le PC de la police
Renverse les rôles, trois jours plus tard ; sur dix
Hommes, huit sont tués, une reconnaissance
Insuffisante l’a causé. Le chef du groupe s’effondre.
Il prend la fuite, minant le moral des troupes.
Au centre-ville, le régiment Dabrowski
Occupe le local de la Philharmonie.
4
De son vrai nom, Piotr Zacharewicz, ingénieur de formation et Juif « caché ». Il fut très apprécié par
sa compagnie. Il fut emprisonné par les Nazis. Après la guerre, il changea son nom en Peter Talbot et
émigra en Australie, où il mourut en 1963, âgé de 50 ans. Ils prient au petit déjeuner, sauf aujourd’hui
Où un obus d’artillerie perce les caves.
Cinquante sont enterrés place de la Paix.
Les parachutages alliés, si essentiels
Puisqu’ils apportent matériel et fournitures,
Sont retardés et lorsqu’ils arrivent enfin,
Largués de trop haut, évitant les tirs hostiles,
Manquent souvent leur but, tombent chez l’ennemi.
Chœur
Hélas, hélas, le vent les déporte,
Ces secours tombés du ciel.
Chant V
Telle est la virulence des féroces combats
Que Witold, tout récemment échappé d’Auschwitz,
Se porte volontaire pour y prendre part,
Rejoint l’AK pour empêcher l’ennemi de
Se déployer Avenue de Jérusalem.
De peur d’être encerclées, les unités du flanc
Sud se replient vers une position plus sûre
Le long des voies ferrées, au bout de l’Avenue.
C’est le 12 août. La compagnie Warszawianka,
Occupera ce front jusqu’à la toute fin.
Côté est, par les Rues du Sapin et de l’Or,
Les unités de Gurt rejoignent la bataille,
Tandis qu’à l’ouest, au-delà de la Rue du Fer,
L’équipe installée dans la Poste principale
Les couvre en continu par d’intenses rafales.
Dressée sur le pont au-dessus des voies ferrées,
Une barricade est tenue par les « Postiers »
Et les « Cheminots », surplombant, Rue du Fer,
Les lignes ennemies, nous protégeant des tirs,
Jusqu’au cœur du territoire de Chrobry II.
La ligne de front qu’occupe Warszawianka,
Avenue de Jérusalem, aux défenseurs,
Vaillants, permet de nourrir et de soutenir
Les autres unités de combat Chrobry II,
Jamais au repos ni à l’abri des canons.
Chant VI
K5 se souvient :
Au douzième jour nous rejoignons Chrobry II.
Bien qu’élèves officiers, avec Bogusławski,
À dix-sept heures, le 1er août, nous sortons.
Les rues, décorées de guirlandes rouges et blanches,
Sont noires de monde ; on entend des tirs lointains.
Le même jour arrive l’officier Żuliński.
Lui, et le peloton du sergent Paciorek,
Sont pris au dépourvu. Aucun n’est armé, mais
Ils possèdent des téléphones de campagne.
Notre nombre grossit de minute en minute.
Le jour suivant, Bogusławski découvre un poste
AK. Comme par magie, nous trouvons Rawicz,
Trzepałko, Rzecki, Tadeusz et autres Mestwin.
Radwan, le commandant de l’AK, nous accueille.
Nous formons un groupe de gendarmes sans armes.
Avec, pour seul sésame, un brassard rouge et blanc,
Dans une imprimerie, nous recevons nos ordres.
Ce sera patrouiller, repérer les tireurs
Embusqués sur les toits du centre-ville pour
Abattre des civils au hasard dans les rues.
Nous contactons aussi ceux de la NSZ.
Après accord, notre unité est transférée
Avenue de Jérusalem, un front que tient
Warszawianka. Le chemin balisé passe à
Travers l'âcre chaleur de caves surpeuplées.
À trente, dans la nuit, discrets, nous progressons,
Contournant des formes humaines endormies,
Sidérés par la bureaucratie militaire,
Aussi exigeante que celle des civils.
Au douzième jour, nous n’avons toujours pas d’armes.
Avant que nous joignons la compagnie, le sud
De l’Avenue de Jérusalem est perdu.
Un grand courage et tant de sang versé pour rien…
Nous fermons l’Avenue à la circulation
Et nous bloquons les trains en démontant les rails.
L’ennemi cherche à s’emparer de l’Avenue,
Les obus de leurs chars frappent la Rue du Fer.
5
« Kruczkowski », nom de guerre.
Ils évitent le pont, ils croient qu’il est miné,
Pensant que nous raisonnons comme eux. Quelle erreur !
Une simple barricade obstrue la Rue du Fer.
L’ennemi essuie un revers coûteux, Rue Dure,
Puis fin août, la contre-offensive de Dzunin
Sur le dépôt de fret se transforme en raclée.
Le butin nous permet – un stock de mitrailleuses –
De repousser d’autres assauts sur l’Avenue.
Chant VII
Rester en alerte et sauvegarder la zone
Ne prend pas toutes nos ressources et nous pouvons
Appuyer les actions de Chrobry II et plus.
Nous aidons nos voisins aux ordres de Zdunin,
Envoyons des renforts aux secteurs en danger.
On en est à quatre semaines. Les chars progressent
Vers l’entrepôt Hartwig, soulevant des nuages.
Leur puissance de feu fait tomber la façade.
Le peloton se replie. Ils perdent un char,
Un autre à l’atelier Borman. Ils se retirent.
Quelques jours plus tard, à la nuit, nous rejoignons
Les forces de la Vieille Ville et attaquons
Deux secteurs. Ce sera deux échecs. Nous rentrons
À l’immeuble des cheminots, pour un répit.
Pour nous distraire un peu, nous grimpons sur le toit
Et tirons, au hasard, sur l’ennemi en bas.
La vie de famille devient fort illusoire,
Rares visites volées à des êtres chers.
Un ami convivial partageant son repas
Soudainement bascule au milieu d’une phrase,
Une balle perdue a percé la fenêtre.
Cependant, l’étrange envahit tout. Le sous-sol
De l’immeuble du syndicat des cheminots
Accueille un pensionnaire – étonnant cheval blanc6 !
Un obus égaré brise là sa retraite.
Notre repas s’enrichit d’un goulasch surprise.
6
Un ancien cheval de fiacre.
Chant VIII
Début septembre, provenant de Dieu sait où,
L'air est rempli de rumeurs d'attaque imminente
Qui viserait l'Avenue de Jérusalem.
Mais cette voie au bord d'une tranchée profonde,
Même avec mille chars, n’est-ce pas trop risqué ?
Durant les temps anciens, les guerres sans portable,
La quiétude est troublée par la suspicion
La désinformation règne, médias absents.
Aux aguets, dans la nuit, une ombre se déplace.
On tire, éclair et son, silence où fuit le chien.
7 septembre. Intenses raids sur notre quartier,
Des bombes embrasent les maisons, comme allumettes
Sans accès à l’eau, le feu dévale les rues,
Le ciel s’illumine et la fumée, en nuages,
L’ombre. Nous voici totalement démunis.
8 septembre. Depuis l’atelier de Borman,
Éventré, nous surveillons le chemin de fer.
Un convoi de blindés à tourelle apparaît.
L’imposante loco soupire et s’arrête. Elle
Halète, siffle, recule. Nous mitraillons.
Le jour suivant, dans la Rue du Corbeau en ruines,
Les braises des maisons bombardées nous enfument,
Les leurs aussi. Depuis notre grenier sans toit,
En face, à notre hauteur, bouge une bâche verte.
On tire, elle tombe – des bottes militaires.
Chœur
La Ville, la ville, sous les assauts du ciel
Résiste, lacérée.
Chant IX
Vient le temps de notre plus grande épreuve.
L’ennemi déploie des obusiers ainsi que
Des lance-mines qui beuglent comme des vaches
Quand ils défèquent dedans les maisons des gens,
Découpant tout ce qui s’oppose à leur passage.
Nous sommes saturés d’explosions et de bombes,
De cloisons écroulées, de poussières de plâtre
Et de fumée que nous broyons pour respirer.
Sans fin roulés du jour vers la nuit, de la vie
Vers la mort, bien qu’étant robots, nous agissons.
Le plancher commence à trembler sous nos semelles,
On n’a pas intérêt à traîner par ici.
Nous arrivons aux escaliers, les descendons,
Nous sommes presque au niveau de la rue, trois hommes
Et une infirmière, quand ça meugle tout près.
J’atteins alors le bas d’un passage voûté,
L’infirmière me prend brusquement par l’épaule,
Je vacille en arrière ; un formidable bruit
Emplit l’espace, l’explosion me pétrifie.
Je suis vautré au sol. J’ai le souffle coupé.
L’escalier que nous venons juste de descendre
A disparu, proprement soufflé par la mine.
Nous sommes tous choqués, en sang, mais bien entiers.
Mitrailleuse intacte, mais munitions perdues.
Un « ange », Amor, m’a sauvé la vie, je le sais.
Chœur
La Ville, la ville sous un déluge de feu,
De ses maisons a reflué la vie.
Chant X
Dans l’immeuble du syndicat des cheminots
On trouve, d’habitude, une tranquillité
Relative et quelque nourriture. Parfois
Notre voleur en chef, devenu quartier-maître,
Nous prépare un festin – c’est du bœuf en conserve,
Des asperges jetées ! Surtout pouvoir dormir.
De nos huit prisonniers, n’en demeurent que sept.
L’un d’eux s’est échappé, quand les autres préfèrent
Partager notre sort. Une sanction fatale
Les attend, eux qui se sont laissé capturer.
Nous pansons leurs blessures et nous les nourrissons.
Mi-septembre. Deux semaines depuis que la
Vieille Ville est tombée, et ils ont pris les quais,
Maintenant ils approchent de la Rue du Chanvre.
Nous envoyons un détachement en appui
Pour renforcer les barricades et défendre
Nos bâtiments derrière la Rue du Nouveau Monde.
Nous sommes pris au dépourvu par la sinistre
Pantomime qui va suivre. Venant de l’est,
Des largages de sacs lacés par des ficelles
Atterrissent sur les ruines : la nourriture
Se répand dans les failles, les armes se cassent
Sous l’impact. Puis survient en bande bigarrée
Une troupe issue d’un casting de cinéma7.
Pour ne pas être en reste, les Bannières étoilées
Envoient une pluie compacte de parachutes
Qui arrose n’importe où la ville béante.
Dans des caisses blindées, des armes et des vivres,
Et des médicaments. La malchance est courante :
Elles tombent surtout aux mains de l’ennemi.
Chant XI
Les quelques pièces qui nous parviennent quand même
Sont défaillantes ou ne correspondent pas
À nos armes. Notons que pour notre malheur
Le vaillant capitaine Probst8 donna sa vie
Devant un char, un cocktail Molotov en main.
Le jeu de hasard au socle branlant démarre,
Et les quartiers tombent comme des dominos :
Le 22 septembre, Czerniaków, le 27,
Mokotów, le 30, Żoliborz. Alors ils
Négocient. 1er octobre, un cessez-le-feu
Permet d’évacuer les civils épuisés.
Sous l’immeuble du syndicat des cheminots
Un tunnel débouche derrière Rue du Fer,
Nous l’arrangeons, pour que notre Commandement
Se rende aux pourparlers sur l’évacuation,
Et le 2, nous capitulons sous conditions :
Ils appliqueront la Convention de Genève.
5 octobre, nos combattants sont regroupés,
Pour être chargés dans des wagons à bestiaux.
Il est stipulé qu’on ne les tuera pas mais
Qu’ils dépériront dans le paradis des camps
De prisonniers de guerre de leur vaste Empire.
7
Les voisins orientaux avaient sans doute rassemblé des criminels, habillés en soldats.
8
« Proboczcz », jugé être un homme d’un rare courage.
Chœur
Comme d’autres, le courageux a osé,
Comme d’autres, il en est mort, pour que la Ville un jour revive.
Cette dette impayable pour la jeunesse dans l’attente,
Ces objectifs inatteignables qu’on leur impose,
Cette lâcheté qui conduit les citadins à une apocalypse
Hantent-ils maintenant les vieillards bunkérisés
Qui sollicitent un cessez-le feu et un joug certain ?
Quel souci, quelle considération pour cette Troie
Dont les élégantes élévations furent saisies par Bellotto9
De son pinceau pour faire honte aux assauts des Barbares
Alors qu’impudemment ils détruisent l’ordre de Palladio,
Dévastant l’amphithéâtre de tant de musiciens ?
Et les hommes âgés, en plaisantant,
Détricotent la trame de l’histoire,
Jouant aux dés avec leur propre famille,
Colportant une Liberté illusoire,
Pendant que leurs jeunes, confiants,
Bondissent insouciants et courent au désastre,
Au point de perdre leur être
Pour vouloir seulement gagner.
Deux ou trois générations se sont succédé –
Que disiez-vous ?
Ô Jérusalem, où es-tu ?
Chant XII – Épilogue
En 2014, un innocent comme vous
Lit les mémoires d’une brave de jadis.
Il tombe, rédigés par Cenia, l’infirmière,
Sur les récits d’épreuves que ses camarades
Endurèrent, et les horreurs de cette guerre.
Elle parle d’AK, qu’ils appelaient Amor.
En ce Vendredi saint, le scribe, un autre AK,
Voit autrement Amor, sa marraine ontarienne.
Il continue à lire, et les souvenirs de
K lui paraissent trop longs et bien lassants,
Un mot se détache du texte, et c’est Amor.
9
Bernardo Bellotto, dit « Canaletto le jeune », neveu d’Antonio Canal, « Canaletto ». Grâce à ses
tableaux, qui ont survécu, Varsovie a pu être reconstruite dans sa gloire du XVIIIe siècle. Deux ou trois générations se sont succédé –
Que disiez-vous ?
Non pas une fois, ni deux, mais bien plus souvent,
K se demandait qui était celle qui lui
Avait sauvé la vie, et s’appelait Amor.
Franchissons les éternités évanouies,
Affrontons le destin, un saut démesuré.
Appartient-il toujours au monde des vivants,
Est-il toujours valide, K, et à l’écoute ?
À l’aise – accordons-lui d’abord une faveur
Et étanchons la soif de ce vieux combattant !
Bonjour, Monsieur ; si c’est Amor que vous cherchez,
Elle porte ce nom, ma marraine ontarienne.
Il riposte aussitôt sous forme de défi :
— Comment saviez-vous donc que je cherchais Amor ?
Comment avez-vous su mon adresse Internet,
Et puis-je avoir la sienne ? — Attendez, mon ami !
Je dois lui demander avant la permission.
Alors eux, flétris par soixante-dix étés,
Dispersés qu’ils sont aux quatre coins de la Terre,
Loin des bûchers fumants de la ville de Troie,
Attendant tout ce temps qu’on restaure l’honneur,
De la Colombie britannique, via Londres10,
À Lynden, Ontario, ils passeront bientôt
Dans l’Histoire : K a pu honorer son A.
10
London, UK.