From Kashubian to Silesian: How Dialects Define Poland’s Cultural Identity

nazwy-ulic-kaszubskie-fot_andrzej_bogacz_forum-0431196097-2.jpg, small, Street names in Kashubian & Polish, photo: Andrzej Bogacz / Forum, From Kashubian to Silesian: How Dialects Define Poland’s Cultural Identity

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There are two official languages in our country: Polish and Kashubian. In addition, we have dialects: Masovian, Lesser Poland dialect, Greater Poland dialect, Silesian, mixed ones in the east of the country and new mixed dialects in the west and north. These are divided into several dozen regionalisms; some of them occur in only a few towns, so they even more so deserve tender care.

In the north of Poland, students learn Kashubian in school. They can take the secondary school exit exam in this language. Official signs of the region’s institutions and local information have versions in the two languages.

Why did Kashubians specifically get the privilege of having their speech recognized as a separate language? Mainly because it is much less understandable than others. Hardworking Kashubians have created a grammar of their language, published literary works as well as textbooks and dictionaries in it.

The dialects used by the inhabitants in a given area formed over many centuries. They contain phrases characteristic of the lands from which their ancestors came. Their neighbours also undoubtedly had an influence on the shape of their speech – hence, for example, loanwords from German in Greater Poland and, accompanied by Czech, in Silesia.

The sentence ‘There is a glass of tea on the cupboard in the hall’ is ‘W antryju na byfyju stoi szolka tyju’ in Silesian and ‘W przedpokoju na kredensie stoi szklanka herbaty’ in Polish. In turn, the nursery rhyme from Greater Poland, ‘W antrejce na ryczce stały pyry w tytce, przyszła niuda, spucła pyry, a w wymborku myła giry’ (In the hall, on a stool, there were potatoes in a paper bag; a pig came, ate the potatoes and washed her feet in the bucket), in standard Polish would read, ‘W przedpokoju na stołku stały ziemniaki w papierowej torebce, przyszła świnia, zjadła ziemniaki, a w wiadrze myła nogi’.

Certain words sound different in different dialects, such as the mentioned potatoes. In Greater Poland they are ‘pyry’; among the Kashubians, ‘bulwy’; in Podhale, ‘grule’; for the inhabitants of Kresy (eastern borderlands), ‘barabole’; for the people of Kurpie and Silesia, ‘kartofle’. In turn, other foreign phrases, such as those taken from Wallachian and characteristic of the highlander dialect, ‘bryndza’ and ‘bundz’, have long become established in the colloquial language.

Time will tell whether this will also be true of the following words, which are for now properly understood only locally:

Kashubia: apfelzyna (orange), cedelk (card), chùtkò (fast), darżëszcze (road), grónk (jug), szãtopiérz (bat);
Podlasie (so-called speaking ‘po prostu’ [simply], ‘po swojemu’ [in your own way]): cieper (now), czyżyk (boy), klekotun (stork), mączka (sugar), poklikać (call), ślozy (tears), zieziulka (cuckoo);
Silesia: bajtel (child), binder (tie), kusik (kiss), szmaterlok (butterfly), śtrasbanka (tram);
Greater Poland: bejmy (money), chabas (meat), glazejki (gloves), gzik (cottage cheese), kejter (dog), szneka z glancem (yeast bun with icing);
Lesser Poland: andrut (waffle), bańka (Christmas tree bauble), chochla (spoon), cwibak (fruit cake), miednica (large bowl), sagan (kettle), sznycel (minced cutlet), warzyć (cook).

Below we have prepared some characteristic examples of languages, dialects and regionalisms that can be encountered on a daily basis in different parts of the country. They are supplemented by languages that are going out of use in Poland, although they were still quite alive within the pre-war borders of the country.

Kashubian language

Thumbnail — Ceramic tablets with ‘Our Father’ in, among others, Kashubian in porticos of Pater Noster Church, Jerusalem, photo: Wikipedia

The Kashubian language is probably the most distant from either colloquial or literary Polish. Despite the similarities, the two languages have more differences than similarities. Kashubian contains words and sounds that have long become extinct in the Polish language. The similarities and differences are most easily traced in the Lord’s Prayer in Kashubian:

Òjcze nasz, jaczi jes w niebie,

niech sã swiãcy Twòje miono,

niech przińdze Twòje królestwò,

niech mdze Twòja wòlô

jakno w niebie tak téż na zemi.

Chleba najégò pòwszednégò dôj nóm dzysô

i òdpùscë nóm naje winë,

jak i më òdpùszcziwómë naszim winowajcóm.

A nie dopùscë na nas pòkùszeniô,

ale nas zbawi òde złégò. Amen

This same prayer in Polish reads:

Ojcze nasz, któryś jest w niebie,

święć się imię Twoje,

przyjdź królestwo Twoje,

bądź wola Twoja jako w niebie tak i na ziemi,

chleba naszego powszedniego daj nam dzisiaj,

i odpuść nam nasze winy,

jako i my odpuszczamy naszym winowajcom,

i nie wódź nas na pokuszenie,

ale nas zbaw od złego. Amen

This text written in the indigenous Kashubian language contains characters unknown in Polish: ã, é, ë, ò, ô, ù.

ã – nasal ‘a’ (IPA: [ã], so-called ‘a’ with tilde);
é – approximately ‘yj’ (IPA: [e], [ej], so-called ‘e’ with acute);
ë – between ‘e’ and ‘a’ (IPA: [ə], so-called schwa);
ò – ‘łe’ (IPA: [wɛ], so-called labialisation);
ô – depending on the dialect, identical with ‘o’ or more inclined towards ‘e’ (IPA: [ɞ] or [ɔ], so-called ‘o’ with circumflex);
ù – ‘łu’ (IPA: [wu]).

However, the letter ‘u’ is read like ‘u’ inclined towards ‘i’ [u/i]. There are also differences in the grammar of the two languages.

The oldest texts containing Kashubian records date back to 1402, but these are text in Polish containing Kashubianisms and not texts written entirely in Kashubian. The oldest Kashubian printed texts are considered to be the 1586 ‘Duchowne piesnie Dra Marcina Luthera i inszich naboznich męzow’ (Spiritual Songs of Dr Martin Luther and Other Pious Men) by Szimón Krofey.

The rich Kashubian culture and customs are relatively rarely shown in the national media. Once, in the TV program MdM, Kashubians lamented a certain injustice: ‘When you turn on the TV, there are highlanders and highlanders. And we are not there’. To which Krzysztof Materna replied, ‘All of a sudden, the highlanders turn on their TV. And whom do they see?… Kashubians’.

Silesian dialect

An excellent example of the Silesian dialect can be found in Stanisław Ligoń’s ‘Gowa. Łozmyślania filozoficzne’ (The Head: Philosophical Musings), included in his Bery i bojki śląskie (Silesian Jokes and Fairy Tales), published by Śląsk Publishers, Katowice, 1980.

Stanisław Ligoń, ‘Gowa. Łozmyślania filozoficzne’

Dzisiok wszystko na świecie mo gowa – ludzie i gadzina, gwoździe, cukier i kapusta. Gowa kapuściano różni sie jednak bardzo łod gowy ludzkiej, a to skuli tego, że kapuściano jest pożytecno! Dzisiejsze dziołchy nie majom gowy, a jeno gówki, nie przymierzając jak zapołki, szpyndliki, abo lalki. Kiej jednak zapołka bez gówki nie przido sie na nic – to u ludzi ni – jest blank na łopach. Bardzo często cłowiek bez gówki łostoł srogim cłowiekiem, bo posłem – bali, nieroz i ministrem. […] W gowie polityka abo redachtora lęgnom sie roztomaite cygaństwa i kacki. Z gowy Jowisza wyskocyła Pallas Atena. Rekrut ma w gowie wdycki siano; łotwarto gowa mo adwokat, ciężko gowa mo zwykle literat, aktór, malyrz, abo inkszy pijok; mokro gowa mo waryjot, a zmyto gowa mo wdycki mąż, zaś choro gowa majom wszyjscy, kierzy cytajom nasze gazeciska. […] Politycy i kandydaci na nowych prziszłych posłów łomiom se gowa nad nowymi cygaństwami, kierymi chcom chytać łobywateli ło ciasnych gowach.

[Today, everything in the world has a head – people and animals, nails, sugar and cabbage. However, the head of a cabbage is very different from a human head, chiefly because the cabbage head is useful! Today’s girls don’t have proper heads, just tiny ones, not unlike matches, pins or dolls. While a match without a head is good for nothing, that’s not the case with people – it’s completely the opposite. Very often, a man without a head becomes a grand persona, such as an MP – or even a minister. […] Various lies and nonsense crop up in the head of a politician or an editor. Pallas Athena jumped out of Jupiter’s head. A recruit has nothing but hay in his head; a lawyer has an open head, a writer usually a heavy one, similarly an actor, a painter or some other drunkard; a crazy one’s head is wet, while a husband always has a washed head, sick in the head are all those who read our newspapers. […] Politicians and candidates for new future MPs are breaking their heads over new deceptions with which they want to capture citizens with narrow(-minded) heads.] [These are all idiomatic expressions containing the word ‘head’]

Glossary: bali (also, indeed, even), blank (quite, completely), dzisiok (today), dziołcha (girl), gadzina (animals), inkszy (other), łopach (the opposite), roztomaity (various), skuli tego (because of this, because), srogi (big, great), szpyndlik (pin), wdycki (always).

As any Polish speaker can see, the Silesian dialect (or, according to a growing group of researchers, the Silesian language) has many expressions that differ from Polish vocabulary. The beginning of the formation of the Silesian dialect dates back to the period of district division, which took place approximately 800 years ago.

Like any language, it has undergone transformations over time. It has split into many local varieties. Nowadays, there are four main Silesian dialects, in at least several dozen specific regionalisms.

Silesian is to a large degree an Old Polish language. It contains words and phrases that were used in the past throughout Poland but are now generally forgotten.

Highlander dialect

Józef Tischner, priest and professor, assures us in his Historia filozofii po góralsku (History of Philosophy in Highlander, Znak Publishers, Kraków, 2009) that:

Na pocątku wsędy byli górole, a dopiero pote porobiyli się Turcy i Zydzi. Górole byli tyz piyrsymi "filozofami". "Filozof" – to jest pedziane po grecku. Znacy telo co: "mędrol". A to jest pedziane po grecku dlo niepoznaki. Niby, po co mo fto wiedzieć, jak było na pocątku? Ale Grecy to nie byli Grecy, ino górole, co udawali greka. Bo na pocątku nie było Greków, ino wsędy byli górole.
Bedym teroz opowiadoł, jak było naprowde z tymi mędrolami. Cystóm prowde bede godoł. Niby, jaki byk mioł interes, coby śklić? Piersy mędrol nazywo się w ksiązkach Tales.

In the beginning there were highlanders, and only later there were Turks and Jews. The highlanders were also the first ‘philosophers’. ‘Philosopher’ – that’s how it is in Greek. It means ‘a wise guy’. And this is said in Greek to hide the truth. After all, why should one know what it was like at the beginning? But the Greeks were not Greeks; they were highlanders who pretended to be Greek. Because in the beginning there were no Greeks, but there were highlanders everywhere. I will now proceed to tell you what really happened with these wise guys. The pure truth. What would it profit me to lie? The first wise guy was called Thales in the books.

‘Stasek Nędza not from Miletus but from Pardałówka’

[…] Dziś nawet małe dzieci ucóm się w skole "twierdzenia Talesa", a rzeke Staska Nędzy z Pardałówki. A było z tym "twierdzeniem" tak. Kie budowali wieże kościelnóm w mieście, to się im skóńcyła miara i nie wiedzieli, cy trza juz kóńcyć wieże, cy jesce nie. I kieby nie Stasek, byłaby z tego drugo wieża Babel. Bo budorze byli robotni, nie tacy jako dziś. Dopiero Stasek wyśpekulowoł, że trza pomiyrzyć wysokość budowy przez pomierzanie jej słonkowego cienia wte, kie cień chłopa ma takóm samóm długość, jak wysokość chłopa. Pomierzali. Nei wtedy Stasek pedzioł: "chłopy, dość". No i tak ta wieża stoi do dziś dnia. Stasek mioł jednak głowe. Roz w zimie, kie była ćma i duse cyścowe podchodziyły pod okno, Stasek pedzioł: "Smierzść się w nicym nie róźni od zycio". Ftosi mu dogodoł: "No to cymus nie umieros?" On na to: "No tymu. Kieby się róźniyła, to byk moze i umar, a tak to co bedym umieroł". Taki to był Stasek Nędza z Pardałówki, co z nudów wynaloz myślenie.

[…] Today, even small children learn at school about Thales’s theorems, and I say [the theorems were] Stasek Nędza’s from Pardałówka. And this is what happened with this ‘theorem’. When they were building a church tower in the city, their measuring device ran out, and they didn’t know whether they should finish the tower or not. And if not for Stasek, it would have been another Tower of Babel. Because the builders were hard workers, not like today. Only Stasek speculated that they had to measure the height of the building by measuring its sun shadow at the time when a guy’s shadow is as long as the guy’s height. They measured. Then Stasek said, ‘Guys, that’s enough.’ And so this tower is still standing today. Stasek had a proper head on his shoulders. Once in winter, when it was dark and souls from purgatory were creeping up to the windows, Stasek said, ‘Death’s no different from life’. And someone retorted: ‘So, why aren’t you dying?’ He replied: ‘Well, that’s just it. If it were any different, maybe I’d even die, but with the way it is, why would I?’ This was the way Stasek Nędza from Pardałówka was, who out of boredom invented thinking.

The speech of highlanders has become so widespread in Poland that it does not require a glossary. Henryk Sienkiewicz introduced highlander expressions successively into the mouths of the characters in his historical novels, regarding their etymology to be the most authentic for the speech of past generations. The mountain people’s jargon sounds familiar to every Pole, although sometimes it is bluntly surprising with how commonsensical it is.

Father (Professor) Józef Tischner had a peculiar test for all serious articles he encountered as a philosopher. If an academic argument could be translated into highlander, that meant it was logically constructed. If not, it wasn’t worth thinking about.

Eastern borderland dialect

The speech thus far preserved in the eastern borderlands of Poland, in the vicinity of the border with Russia, Lithuania, Belarus and Ukraine, is distinguished by a specific melodious intonation that is almost impossible to convey in written words. Edward Redliński gave a sample of its notation in the text to Wiktor Wołkow’s beautiful album Fotografie (Photographs) by Krajowa Agencja Wydawcznicza, Białystok, 1984:

Edward Redliński, 'Taraj'

– Koniem mojego życia… Koniem, którego na tamtym świecie muszę zaraz po znalezieniu się tam odszukać natychmiastowo, panie Redliński, może i przed moją żonką zmarłej pamięci… był Taraj.
– Pan zamilkł, panie Matoszko…
– Hmm… Pojechałem na rynek kupić prawdę mówiąc… krowę. Ale przechodzę koło koni, raptem, czuję, coś chuchnęło mnie, o tu z tyłu, w szyję. Oglądam się… Hy. Spojrzeli my sobie w oczy. I od razu, bez jednego słowa, i on i ja powiedzieli: ciebie dla mnie, a mnie dla ciebie Pan Bóg stworzył. […] Nienatarczywy był, spokojny, ot, ustępliwy. Ale w razie czego – jest i siła, i honor, i swoje zdanie: swoje umie i zawsze na niego możesz liczyć. […] Nie popędzać, nie pouczać, niech ciągnie po swojemu – a zrobi za dwóch. Panie, ja na niego może ze dwa razy tylko w życiu bicz podniosłem. Przez lat dwadzieścia i osiem. […] Jak się zestarzał? Hy… […] W ranie mi pan szpera, panie Redliński. Cóż… Jak półślepy już był, potykał się schudł… wiadomo, zęby nie te, cóż, musiałem – no musiałem! – oddać jego rakarzowi. I co? Z rana syny przylatują: Tatu, Taraj wrócił! Wychodzę, patrzę, a jakże: trawę poszczypuje pod brzozą. Nogi spętane… Dwanaście kilometrów tymi spętanymi nogami, całą noc musiał, biedaczysko, dreptać. […] Wieczorem przyjechał rakarz, bardzo zły, i zabrał jego. […] Znowu słońce wzeszło, patrzym: jakiś koń szczypie trawę przy brzozie. Taraj? A jakże, tak, on: nasz pracowity, nasz mądry, nasz umęczony, stary, dobry Taraj. Tym razem – z kawałkiem łańcucha na szyi.
– I znowu przyjechał rakarz?
– Tak. Ale oddałem mu jego pieniądze.
– I Taraj żył z wami?
– Aż… umarł. […] Po śmierci długo jeszcze jego dusza pasła się koło brzozy. […] Czasem, jak żywy koń zarży, dusza umarłego konia jemu odpowie. Ludzi mówią: echo. Ale ja wiem: to dusza. Nie raz nam, tak wieczór, od brzozy, coś smutno zarżało. Cicho chłopcy, mówiłem, ciii… Nasz Taraj rży.

[– The horse of my life… The horse that I must find in the afterlife immediately after arriving there, Mr. Redliński, maybe even before finding my late wife… was Taraj.

– You’ve fallen silent, Mr. Matoszko…

– Hmm… I went to the market to buy, to be honest… a cow. But I’m passing by the horses and suddenly I feel something breathing on me from behind, on my neck. I look back… Hm. We looked into each other’s eyes. And immediately, without a single word, both he and I said: the Lord God created you for me and me for you. […] He was unobtrusive, calm, even compliant. But if needed he had strength, honour and his own opinion: he knew his stuff, and you could always count on him. […] Don’t rush him, don’t lecture, let him pull in his own way – and he’ll work for two. Lord, I raised the whip to him only maybe twice in my life. For twenty and eight years. […] How did he age? Hmm… […] You’re digging around in my wound, Mr. Redliński. Well… When he was half blind, stumbled, lost weight… you know, his teeth weren’t right, well, I had to – well, I had to! – give him to the dogcatcher. And then what? In the morning my sons come running: Papa, Taraj is back! I go out and look, and of course: he’s munching grass under the birch tree. Legs hobbled… Twelve kilometres with these hobbled legs, he had to walk all night, poor thing. […] In the evening, the dogcatcher came, very angry, and took him away. […] The sun rose again, I look: the horse is munching grass by the birch tree. Taraj? Of course: our hard-working, our wise, our tired, good old Taraj. This time – with a piece of chain around his neck.

– And did the dogcatcher come again?

– Yes. But I gave him his money back.

– And Taraj lived with you?

– Until… he died. […] After his death, his soul still grazed by the birch tree for a long time. […] Sometimes, when a living horse neighs, the soul of a dead horse will respond. People say it’s an echo. But I know: it’s a soul. More than once, in the evening, something sad neighed from the birch tree. Hush, boys, I’d say, shhh… Our Taraj is neighing.]

The Northern Borderlands dialect comes from the areas of today’s Lithuania and Belarus. It is characterized by:

no mazuration (brak mazurzenia), i.e. pronouncing ‘sz’, ‘ż’, ‘cz’, ‘dż’ as ‘s’, ‘z’, ‘c’, ‘dz’;
non-differentiation of unaccented ‘a’ and ‘o’ (akanie) (dalary, zobacza instead of dolary, zobaczą);
dragging out stressed syllables, melodiousness, so-called ‘śledzikowanie’, i.e. pronouncing ‘ś’, ‘ć’, ‘ź’, ‘dź’ as ‘s-i’, ‘c-i’, ‘z-i’, ‘dz-i’;
distribution of ‘o’, ‘ó’ differently than in general Polish (noż, stoł, ostróżny, dójrzeć instead of nóż, stół, ostrożny, dojrzeć);
pronunciation of nasals ‘ę’ or ‘ą’ as ‘on’ or ‘en’ in most positions (menża, wstonżka, idon instead of męża, wstążka, idą);
hard ‘n’ instead of ‘ń’ (słonce, tancować instead of słońce, tańcować);
soft pronunciation of ‘chy’, ‘che’ (chitry, grzechi, kuchienny instead of chytry, grzechy, kuchenny);
semi-soft s-i, z-i, c-i, dz-i (z-ima, s-iedz-i, miłos;c;)
always soft ‘l’ (ljas, ljen instead of las, len);
apical dental ‘l’ for the letter ‘ł’;
doubling the ‘n’ in the suffix ‘-ny’ (e.g. drewnianny, szklanny instead of drewniany, szklany);
‘-u’ rather than ‘-owi’ in the dative of singular masculine nouns (żebraku, koniu);
structures such as ‘psy szczekali’ (standard Polish would be ‘psy szczekały’), i.e. giving all plural verbs used with masculine animate nouns the ending used only with masculine personal nouns;
past participles for simple past tense (‘oni byli pojechawszy’ for ‘they have been gone’);
frequent ‘dla’ (for) instead of dative case: ‘daj to dla Jana’ (give it for John).

Elements of the borderland dialect can be found among some inhabitants of the northern and western lands, people who are so-called repatriates from beyond the Bug River.

Balak of Lviv

The urban dialect of Lviv, called Balak, with its characteristic melodiousness and street-boy accent, radiated to all the rest of Eastern Galician linguistic regionalisms. Its fullest expression was given by the spoken-word artists known throughout pre-war Poland Kazimierz Wajda and Henryk Vogelfänger, i.e. the unforgettable: Szczepko i Tońko. Dialogi radiowe z ‘Wesołej Lwowskiej Fali’ (Szczepko and Tońko: Radio Dialogues From Lwów’s Merry Wave, Lviv, 1934, reprint of Ossolineum, 1989):

Kazimierz Wajda & Henryk Vogelfänger, ‘W cyrku’

– Serwus Tońku! Co ty taki cienty na mni?
– Cienty ni cienty, ali nakrencony jezdym na ciebi syrdeczni. Sameś wczora poszyd du cyrku i aniś pary z giemby ni puścił. Bałyś si żyby ja z tobu ni poszyd, abu co?
– Toniuńciu! Ta gdzie jaby ci taki krzywdy naumyśni zrobił. Spotkałym si z Anielku i sy idym z nio popud renki byz Karola Ludwika, aż tu ci odraz taki setny plakat: ży jak kawalyr kupi jedyn bilit – tu dama idzi za frajir. Jak ja ci to przeczytał – tu Anielka odraz kupiła jedyn bilit dla mni, a sama poszła rozumisz mi, za frajir. I to ci si tak o migim stału, anjs cwaj draj, ży ciebi ni byłu spusobnuść złapać.
– Nu bu ja sy zara myślał, ży ty si moży stydzisz za takiegu kulegi wzglendym moi podarty spodni. To mnie żałość wzięła.
– Ta ty frajerska makitra. Ja ci powim jednu słóweczku, to bedzisz zara miał fajny puradzeni. Idź jutru du Anielki i powidz ji tak o, niby nic niwidzoncy, ży tyby sy poszyd du cyrku inu ży szóstaków nimasz. Tu ona ci zichir kupi jedyn bilit a sama znów pójdzi za frajir.
– A moży ona ni zechcy pójść drugi raz?
– A o, ni pójdzi? Ta co ji szkodzi za frajir iść nawyt sto razy.

[– Hello Toniek! Why are you so ticked off at me?

– Ticked off or not, but you pissed me off alright. You went to the circus by yourself yesterday, and you didn’t even say nothin. You afraid I wouldn’t go with you or somethin?

– Toniu my heart! How could I ever hurt you on purpose like that! I met up with Anielka, and I was going with her hand in hand without Karol Ludwik, and suddenly I see this great poster: if a guy buys one ticket, the lady enters for free. Once I read that, Anielka immediately bought a single ticket for me and went herself for free. And this is what happened, all within seconds, and not to trick you in any way.

– Well, I thought maybe you were ashamed of having such a friend like, with my ripped trousers. And so a great sadness got hold of me.

– You lame schnook. I’ll tell you one thing, and that’ll be some good advice. Go to Anielka’s house tomorrow, just like that, and you play dumb, say you’d gladly go to the circus, but you haven’t a dime. Then she’ll buy you one ticket and go herself for free again.

– Maybe she won’t want to go again?

– What’d you mean won’t want? Come on, what’s it for her to go for free even a hundred times.]

The characteristic phonetic feature of the Lviv dialect was word stress impacting the timbre of vowels. Stressed syllables were pronounced with greater force of exhalation, longer and higher in pitch than unstressed syllables. The consequence of focusing the entire articulatory force on stressed syllables was the shortening of the duration of unstressed syllables and the raising (narrowing) of the middle vowels occurring in them. This is related to so-called drawing out. The effect of such articulation applies especially to

transition of unstressed ‘e’ into ‘i’, ‘y’:

– in pre-stress syllables (człuwikowi, wilbłondy, kiliszkami, cikawy, nispudziwany, iliktryczny instead of człowiekowi, wielbłądy, kieliszkami, ciekawy, niespodziewany, elektryczny);

in post-stress syllables (człowik, nawyt, majontyk instead of człowiek, nawet, majątek);
in word-final position: (ali instead of ale, wciągli instead of ciągle, w Polscy instead of w Polsce, waszy pienkny miastu instead of wasze piękne miasto);

transition of unstressed ‘o’ to ‘u’:

– in pre-stress syllables (uferma, która gudzina, kubita sputrafiła, dupruwadził instead of oferma, która godzina, kobieta potrafiła, doprowadził);

in post-stress syllables (czeguś, ogun, ściskajunc instead of czegoś, ogon, ściskając);
in word-final position (Jóźku, ona tyku jutru bedzi instead of Józku, ona tylko jutro będzie).

The Grand Duchy of Balak is what Andrzej Chciuk, born in Drohobycz, called his beloved Lviv speech, which he expressed in the subtitles of his memoirs: Atlantis and Ziemia księżycowa (Land of the Moon). Written from afar in emigration, they cultivated the way of expressing thoughts by native inhabitants of Lviv, conveying the uniqueness of their humour and the kindred mentality of urban commoners.

The Jewish language

Let us take the legendary, model Jewish humorous skit Sęk (Knot) to showcase the Jewish language, which is almost never heard today. The text by Konrad Tom, presumably from 1926, was originally played by the author and Ludwik Lawiński. It gained great popularity thanks to Edward Dziewoński, who performed it together with Wiesław Michnikowski in the Dudek cabaret founded in 1964. ‘Such a skit comes along once in a hundred years’, Dziewoński used to say, and he repeated after Wiesław Gołas: ‘They will remember us thanks to Sęk’. Interestingly, the Perskie Oko Theater, where this once-in-a-lifetime skit was performed, was located at 63 Nowy Świat, where the Dudek cabaret moved 40 years later and enjoyed spectacular success throughout the decade. This one has it all:

Konrad Tom, ‘Sęk’

– Halo? Poprosze panią zamiejscowa, Lubartów 333… Czi co? Nie: czy? pytajne tylko: czy? wzięte liczebniczo… Taa, mój numer 333… Już jest połączenie? Dziękuję ślicznie…
Halo? Halo? HALO??? – Halooo…
– Kuba? […] Jest interes do zrobienia. […] Jest tak: Friedmann ma weksel Szapira z żyrem Glassa, rewindykator jest Barmsztajn… On daje dwadzieścia procent, franko loco towar jest u Lutmanna, tylko ten towar jest zajęty przez Honigmanna z powodu weksel Reuberga. Za ten weksel Reuberga można dostać gwarancję od jego teścia Rozencwajga, tylko on jest przepisany na Rozencwajgową, a Rozencwajgowa jest chora…
– A co jej jest?
– Co by i nie było, to my dziedziczymy dwadzieścia procent, tylko Lutmann musi mieć pewność, że Honigmann go wypuści, oczywiście, jeżeli Rozencwajgowa jeszcze dziś się przeniesie na łono Abrahama, to Malwina Fajnsztajn nie ma nic przeciwko, tylko Lipszyc musi mieć pięćset dolary… […] Jassne?
– Oczywiście, że rozumiem. […] Tylko skąd pewność, że Rozencwajgowa by wyzionęła ducha?
– W tym właśnie sęk… […]
– Nic nie rozumiem.
– Deska, w szrodku sęk!
– Jaka deska?
– Drzewo. Deska drzewniana, w szrodku sęk.
– Kto ma drzewo? LUTMANN???
– Jaki Lutmann, Lutmann ma manufakturę, a drzewo jest z lasu. Się ścina, się rżnie na deski, jest deska, jest sęk. […]
– A kto ma ten las? […]
– Kuba, odczep się, chodzi o to, czy Rozencwajgowa wytrzyma do licytacji!
– A ona sprzeda? […] Ten tartak.
– Kuba, przecież… Jaki tartak do cholery?!
– No, że się ścina i się rżnie… […] Słuchaj, tylko ten tartak to ja bym zatrzymał dla siebie. Owszem, dajmy na to, ja daję dwa tysiące na las. To kto inny będzie miał tartak, tak? Będzie mnie dyktował ceny? Będę jego dawał zarabiać na rżnięcie? To gdzie jest LOGIKA??? To wolę kupić ten tartak! Mam rację?
– Teoretycznie tak… Tylko że mię coś podkusiło. Staropolszczyznę się mnie zachciało. Sęk, sęk, równie dobrze mogłem powiedzieć, ja wiem… – tu leży pies pochowany. […]
– Słuchaj, Rozencwajgowa ma na sprzedaż psa? […] Słuchaj, Beniek, dwa tysiące za psa? Ja mogę dać… trzydzieści złotych. Duży piesek?
– OLBRZYMIE BYDLE!!! (słyszy telefonistkę) Złociutka, to nie do pani! Znaczy, co? Chwileczkę, Kuba, ta rozmowa za chwilę będzie kosztowała czterdzieści dwa złote.
– No co to znaczy czterdzieści dwa złote, jak się kupuje i las, i tartak, i psa…
– Wiesz co ja ciebie powiem? Ty weź sobie ten las za darmo…
– A tartak?
– A TAR… A tartak, to ty sobie weź tyż za darmo…
– A pies?
– A pies??? A pies ci mordę lizał!!!

[– Hello? Miss, intercity call Lubartów 333… What tree? Not tree? The only question is tree? No, numbers… Yeah, my number is 333… Already connected? Thank you so much…

Hello? Hello? HELLO??? – Hellooo…

– Kuba? […] There’s a deal to be made. […] So here it is: Friedmann has Szapira’s bill of exchange with Glass’s endorsement, the debt collector is Barmsztajn… He’s giving 20%, the loco franco of the goods are with Lutmann, but the goods were seized by Honigmann because of Reuberg’s promissory note. You can get a guarantee for Reuberg’s promissory note from his father-in-law, Rozencwajg, but it’s reassigned to Rozencwajg’s wife, and Rozencwajg’s wife is sick…

– What’s wrong with her?

– Whatever it is, we inherit 20%, but Lutmann must get an assurance that Honigmann will release it, of course, if Rozencwajg’s wife departs to Abraham’s bosom today, Malwina Fajnsztajn has nothing against it, but Lipszyc must have 500 dollars … […] Clear?

– Of course, I understand. […] But how can we be sure that Rozencwajg’s wife will pass away?

– Here’s the knot… […]

– I don’t understand anything.

– The board, there’s a knot in it!

– What board?

– Wood. Wooden board, knot in the middle.

– Who has the wood? LUTMANN???

– What Lutmann, Lutmann has a manufactory, and the wood comes from the forest. You cut down a tree, chop it into boards, there’s a board, there’s a knot. […]

– And who owns this forest? […]

– Kuba, forget about it, the question is whether Rozencwajg’s wife will make it until the auction!

– Will she sell it? […] This sawmill.

– Kuba, I mean… What sawmill for God’s sake?!

– You know, where you cut… […] Listen, but this sawmill, I’d like to keep it for myself. Yes, let’s say I give 2,000 for the forest. So someone else will have the sawmill? Only to impose prices on me? And me letting him earn money off my back? So where is the LOGIC??? I’d rather buy this sawmill! Am I right?

– Theoretically, yes… But I fell for the temptation. I had a craving for Old Polish. The knot, the knot, I could have said, I know… here’s the snag, here’s the problem or as they say ‘here’s where the buried dog lies’ […]

– Listen, Rozencwajg’s wife has a dog for sale? […] Listen, Beniek, 2,000 for a dog? I can give you... 30zł. Is it a big dog?

– GIANT BASTARD!!! (hears telephone operator) Honey, that wasn’t meant for you! I mean, what? Wait a minute, Kuba, this conversation will soon cost 42zł.

– Well, what does 42zł mean when you’re getting a forest, a sawmill, and a dog…

– You know what? Just take this forest for free…

– And the sawmill?

– And the SAW… And the sawmill, you can take it for free too…

– And the dog?

– And the dog??? Damn the f***ing dog!!!]

Among their own people, Jews spoke the Jewish language (Yiddish), but in contacts with Poles, they used a language Poles more or less understood. This sometimes included quite outlandish grammatical forms, as in the skit quoted here.

It would not be difficult to translate this text by Konrad Tom into literary Polish, but… what for? The entire wit and unique expression of this dialogue lies in its mistakes and blunders, however charming. Everyone knew that the elite of Polish Jews – scientists, artists, doctors, lawyers and engineers – spoke impeccable Polish.

The Polish language used within the borders of our country allows everyone to convey their thoughts quite accurately and therefore to achieve total understanding. The fact that this is not successful everywhere and always is more a matter of temperament than of geographical location. Nevertheless, the Polish language may sound completely different in different parts of the country.

Even today, a universally understandable and very graceful phrase can be heard here and there: ‘Nakupiłam bułków dla dziecek’ (I bought rollses for the kidses), which adds additional colour to the formally correct Polish language. However, the confession: ‘Jak byłam mała, to spawałam z babcią’ (When I was little, I welded [slept] with my grandma) [in this dialect, ‘to sleep’ (spać) is the same as ‘to weld’ (spawać), trans.] requires a moment’s reflection. Was the grandmother modern enough to take up the role of a welder, or maybe the granddaughter once had the pleasure of sharing a bed with her?

For the Polish language to remain alive, robust and rich, it needs to protect all local dialects and area jargons. This is one of the most important tasks of people and institutions interested in preserving and developing our heritage.

Translated from Polish by Michał Pelczar

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