Oh Hania so so beautiful it made me cry, you really are so talented. I fell utterly dejected as I so longed to go to the memorial service for Jagna but I have Shingles (polpasiec) and again my efforts have been thwarted. Maybe next time....
With warmest regards,
From: Anne Kaczanowski
Sent: Thursday, November 01, 2007 12:49 AM
Subject: [Kresy-Siberia] Jagna's Vision
I've written a poem in memory of Jagna Wright and her vision. This will be printed in the Memory Book, given to her family at her memorial service on Thursday in London, England. My words are a reflection taken from everyone in the Kresy-Siberia group in honour and recognition of Jagna's passion and work.
She had a vision and they said no one wanted to know
Her passion for truth was inspired from lives of long ago
A piece of substantial history was being conveniently overlooked
Exposing the closed chapters she became immediately hooked.
In her homeland communists suppressed the story at their best
But her surprise was how little about it was known in the west.
People packed into freezing boxcars with the barest to survive
Thru frost, disease and hunger many were no longer alive.
Her native Poles deported and banished to inhuman Siberian lands
How this could be forgotten, after war, she couldn't understand.
The Siberian exiles were dwindling fast and remained very few
So she set out a vigilant course to see what she could do
She captured their wonderful stories and filmed them in tears
And released the memories of bondage, hidden for years
Amongst the pain and suffering their survival became the key
For a country wrapped in chains and those who were now free
With the war finally over these courageous people gently tread
To all corners of the earth in search of freedom and bread
To speak of their turbulent past many were just too afraid and proud
But in silence they relived their anguish and secretly wept out loud
Memories were reminders of loss and being lost as they prayed
And surviving Poles still felt abandoned, forgotten and betrayed
What better place than London to learn the chivalry of a knight
And the "God of Exiles" picked a soldier in one feisty Jagna Wright
This unveiling of truth and tragedy pulled at Jagna's inner core
She sought out her messengers so the story would not be ignored.
She knew in bringing forth one story of truth a burden is lifted
And agreed a listening ear does not belong to the gifted.
She carefully documented their passionate, suffering tales of sorrow
Binding the odysseys together so not forgotten tomorrow
The exiles had been deported from Poland in hopes of their demise
But she refused to let history forget about these thousands of lives
Delving into the past reawakened within her a new light
And she was often asked "Who cares about the Polish plight?"
She replied whimsically : "Better a film exists than one not!"
And in defiance cooed "May Churchill's Polish curse forever rot!"
Infectious, determined and bound to touch the world with her story
She armoured herself like a valiant soldier off to victorious glory.
There's always one more experience that would appeal to the cause
Just tell the story.just tell it like it was.
With weapons of patience and tenacious zeal she went into action
As finally recognition of the wartime tragedy brought satisfaction.
With friend Aneta, her comrade in arms, the canons fired away
Together they pushed open media doors and got to have their say.
When there was no platform, Jagna invited people under her roof
She showed the story in countless films with voices of living proof.
But this would be just the first little hill she conquered with zest
A courageous fight with cancer would be another merciless test.
She pushed the obvious aside and like a heroine fought her illness
Whilst surrounded by those on the other side watching in stillness
Perhaps their fighting sprits and patriotism pushed her everyday
Whether alone or guided by the exiles, she slowly carved her way.
There was another story to set right and time was not on her side
Many Jews had long blamed Poles and too many truths were denied
She tried to bridge the gap between the survivors and the blamed
And proved that all words written were not as once were claimed
The other truth was completed before the dust blew off her wings
And her victories forever recorded in the land of castles and kings.
She laid to rest her mission complete and a legacy of patriotic pride
And her passions for the homeland were shared by us worldwide.
The day came to an end for the Exile's Polish angel with a halo of light
As voices beckoned to earth " It's time to come home, Jagna Wright".
Her spirit and efforts were carried by voices of those who died before
Voices of the ones who could not come home from Siberia or the war
It is without doubt that she was welcomed home and most joyfully met
By each of those that she passionately begged the world not to forget
As you take your place amongst the truly courageous who inspired you
May the presence of your vivid eternal light always be within our view
Your relentless energy will be our guide as your vision we carry on
Rest in the arms of sweet slumber Jagna, until you greet another dawn
Spij kole¿anko w ciemnym grobie. Niech siê Polska przyoni tobie.
"Sleep my friend and in the darkness of your grave may Poland come to you in dreams."
Last words of a song commonly used for Polish soldiers who died and were buried on foreign land without seeing Poland again.
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