The twentieth century, taken in its entirety, was an unusually dynamic time for the world and for Poland, a country that did not exist at the beginning of that century and that, after it returned to the map, soon faced the struggles of World War II and Communism. Poland’s difficult history consists of millions of individual biographies. These biographies tell the story of struggles for personal liberties, creative freedom, money, career, education, and often for life itself.
Career and Money Also Matter
Some artists left Poland for other professional reasons. Before World War II, Jerzy Bojanowski moved to Chicago at the Polish government’s invitation; he took the position of cultural attaché and also did some guest conducting[1]. Jerzy Fitelberg, an experienced traveler, moved to Paris in 1933.
In later years, a so-called “stuffy political atmosphere” prompted many composers to leave Poland. Apart from a need to distance themselves from the oppressive climate they perceived in their home country, some of them hoped for better commissions and a chance for better life, perhaps even fame. Dorota Szwarcman recalls:
“My professor of composition, Dobrowolski, emigrated because he was offered a professorship in Graz. In his case it was obvious, because the Warsaw school at that time brought down everyone who excelled above a certain level. Dobrowolski, a professional and a decent man, never joined the Party, which was probably another reason why his career was blocked. When about to leave, he told me, ‘at this academy, I wouldn’t ever be anyone more important than an associate professor [docent]’. In Graz, he was fully appreciated, which is why he stayed there”[2].
Other decisive reasons for emigrating included personal ambition and a desire for professional development. This was the situation with Krzysztof Meyer, known and respected in Poland, who accepted an offer of a professorship at the Hochschule für Musik in Cologne and began to divide his life between the two countries. Zygmunt Krauze accepted Pierre Boulez’s offer and in 1982 became a music advisor at IRCAM. This allowed him to function in two worlds (although his seminars and courses took place in various countries).
During the Communist era in Poland, many artists traveled abroad to earn money for reasons that had nothing to do with professional ambitions. Usually these involved contracts (which were sometimes long-term) with Poland’s state Pagart agency to perform in venues, circus orchestras, on ships, or in spa towns (this was often a specialty of composers who were also instrumentalists, such as Jan Drzewiecki in Scandinavia or Wojciech Karolak and his many bands). Of course, some emigrants benefited from contracts that enabled them to work with some of the finest foreign artists, which would not have been possible without leaving Poland. Zbigniew Seifert, for example, took advantage of such an offer in 1973, thanks to which he became internationally acclaimed. A similar opportunity was also taken by Adam Makowicz, who left for the United States after receiving an invitation from John Hammond in 1978.
Offers from the American film market, which attracted composers comfortable with writing for cinema, also deserve special attention. Bronisław Kaper left for the United States in 1935 at the invitation of Louis Mayer, the head of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. More recently, Abel Korzeniowski has found his place in Hollywood, which has made more use of his creative potential than would have been possible in his native country.
The desire to improve one’s financial situation and professional position often is a strong motivating factor to change one’s country of residence. Often, however, economic and career possibilities are not the only reasons for departing. Sometimes emigration can be a kind of escape from a personal situation, or a way to “rescue” oneself. Ludomir Michał Rogowski used this possibility before World War II. A cosmopolitan composer who had lived and studied in Leipzig, Munich, Rome, and Paris, he returned to his native Poland after completing his education, only to emigrate again because he was unable to situate himself artistically among the pragmatic musicians of Warsaw.
The reasons for the departure of André Tchaikowsky are not entirely known. Probably the most important rationale was the scope of his ambitions—he hoped to have an international career as a piano virtuoso. After receiving eighth prize at the 1955 International Chopin Piano Competition in Warsaw, he took part in the Queen Elisabeth of Belgium International Music Competition in Brussels, where he was awarded third prize. This professional success facilitated his decision to emigrate. The West gave him other opportunities to develop his musical talent, but was it only about opportunities? Tchaikowsky had studied earlier in Paris, so he knew what life was like in both countries. He was aware of the freedom of creative expression abroad, and he also… discovered personal freedom. Being Jewish and gay, it seems that he hoped for a life where he could be himself without being ostracized. This is what he cared most about[3]. Maybe private life coincided with professional hopes and frustrations, but perhaps a combination of these reasons prompted his eventual decision to leave?
Others wanted to join their loved ones: Szymon Laks, immediately after leaving the Dachau concentration camp, joined his two brothers in Paris, a city he was acquainted with from his university days. Dobromiła Jaskot moved to Australia because of her relationship with Dominik Karski, yet the reasons for their decisions were also more complex. These included the lack of opportunities for permanent work in Poland and the chance for further development abroad.
Hanna Kulenty’s decision seems to have been prompted by professional reasons, but when we asked her friend Maja Trochimczyk, we learn:
“She went to study with Andriessen. She had more performances there and a better opportunity to have an international career, thanks to promotion efforts made by Donemus. Speaking of personal issues, after her daughter Misia (Maria) died in a fatal car accident in 1993, she had had enough of Poland and driving on Polish roads. Doctors and friends in the Netherlands helped her recover from the shock”[4].
Not everybody wanted to speak openly about personal tragedies behind emigration, yet Rachel Knobler, who was Jewish, did. She moved to Germany when her mother was killed in Słomniki by Polish nationalists soon after the Second World War. The composer could not forget this, especially given that her family was severely affected by war tragedies – they had also experienced the ghetto, a concentration camp, her father’s death, and the shooting of her young sister. As a result of this trauma, she did not want to return to Poland; she became a German citizen, although her integration with the Polish community allows us to say that in spirit, she remained connected to her native country[5].
For Jerzy Abratowski, emigration was a way to escape his memories. His wife Ludmiła Jakubczak had died in a car accident at the age of 22 while Abratowski was driving. When Sława Przybylska asked him about the possibility of returning to Poland, he revealed the scale of his tragedy: “What for, to die on Lusia’s grave?”[6].
Accidents Happen
Emigration does not always have to be deliberate – sometimes it happens by accident. Maciejewski (who already lived in Paris, having received a state scholarship) did not intend to stay in Sweden initially. When he went in Scandinavia with his newly married wife in order to meet his in-laws, World War II began. After about 12 years, he moved again, this time to Los Angeles. He wrote about his experiences in Göteborg:
“I have experienced a lot here, maybe more than in my entire life prior to coming to Sweden. I also owe much to this country. I have learned many things and confirmed many truths, grown more mature. I see life more brightly. I walk through the world more consciously. Yet I don’t feel any attachment to this country and I could leave even tomorrow!!! It’s too cold!!! It’s the North, alien to us Poles”[7].
It may be surprising to learn that Maciejewski returned later to the place he seemed to dislike. Once more, fate intervened. As Maciejewski wrote from Göteborg:
“On the second day after my arrival [a second time], by chance I walked into a piano shop where I discovered an incredible instrument, a pre-war Swedish piano in near mint condition for a ridiculously low price, probably because it was out of style. I had dreamed about one like this. The tone… Mr Wacek! I could cry when I am about to play. I immediately paid a deposit”[8].
Maciejewski, not knowing what to do with the instrument, decided to buy an apartment to go with it. However, the pragmatic aspect of this decision should be mentioned here as well – by staying in Sweden, he was granted a pension, which allowed him not only to live out his old age with dignity, but also to spend the winter months in the Canary Islands.
Similar scenarios can be observed in the case of other composers as well. Kondracki was on a boat in the Mediterranean Sea when the Second World War broke out. From there, he went to Brazil. During the same invasion of Poland, Aleksander Brachocki was in New York to give concerts in connection with the World’s Fair. The war prompted other cases of accidental emigration, which sometimes sent composers around the world. For example, in 1938 Władysław Eiger left Poland for Paris and found himself in the so-called free zone in the southern part of France during the German occupation of that country. After obtaining a Dutch visa, he left for Curacao and finally settled in the United States in 1942. Roman Ryterband moved to France on July 30, 1939 for educational purposes, but ended up in a refugee camp in Switzerland. He finally obtained Swiss citizenship, but in 1955 he left for Canada and five years later for the United States. Although Jan A. P. Kaczmarek did not leave Poland intending to stay in the United States, he spontaneously responded to a chance that determined his whole career, as he eventually extended his stay on a State Department scholarship in order to stay in Los Angeles permanently. It should be remembered, however, that he established the Rozbitek Foundation in Poland and often visits the country, usually related to the organization of the Transatlantic [Transatlantyk] Festival[9].
The example of Jacek Kaczmarski shows how diverse the motivations connected with emigration might be. His departure in 1981 was not his choice, but was forced upon him by politics (the start of martial law). When he left a second time, in 1995, he left willingly, hoping to find peace and a joyous life in Australia.
Other interesting examples of “accidental” emigration are those caused by a change of borders as the result of historical events. Tadeusz Majerski was born and died in Lviv, but after the Second World War, the city was no longer Polish.
What If…
When one thinks about an individual’s biography, the question arises: What would his or her life have been like if other choices had been made? The same is true of composers’ lives: How different would their musical language have been if it had not been for some trip, what would they have achieved in Poland, and what new opportunities would arise in a different cultural circle? Let’s ponder a few responses to “what if…:
- Creative freedom
This phrase keeps recurring. Opportunities for creative freedom certainly allowed some emigrants to relocate away from Poland and its canons of socialist realist aesthetics, to actually spread their wings (Palester), and also to write against the fashions prevailing in their home country (Maciejewski and Szałowski). In today’s world, this freedom is often identified with financial opportunities (e.g., film production, as in the case of Jan A. P. Kaczmarek). As we know, insufficient budgets can often kill artistic momentum.
- A turn towards folklore and national elements
A sentiment towards Polishness is almost certainly one reason for such a turn. Distance can deepen a connection to one’s own culture, while nostalgia can influence the choice of musical inspirations, which perhaps would be different if a composer stayed in his or her native country. One example of such a state of affairs is Panufnik, for the composer “documented” his emotional connection with his lost homeland through music. As his wife, Lady Camilla Panufnik, said:
“He felt the need to create music with a strong Polish accent, inspired by political protests in Poland. This was the case, for example, with his Sinfonia Sacra, composed to celebrate the millennium of Polish Christianity and statehood, but also written with the idea that celebrating such a great anniversary through music would be a kind of anathema for governmental authorities in the 1960s, who hoped for the complete abolition of the Polish state. His Katyn Epitaph [Epitafium katyńskie] carried a powerful message that impacted the Stalinists, while his Bassoon Concerto, dedicated to the memory of Father Popiełuszko, and Sinfonia Votiva were expressions of aversion to the country’s regime and support for the ideals of Solidarity. In many of his works, regardless of earlier or later musical language, one could discern strong Polish roots”[10].
Similarly, the mazurkas of Tansman and Maciejewski (the latter composed them throughout nearly his entire life) mirrored their longing for their homeland in a kind of emigrant’s “diary”. Rogowski also reached for Polish folklore in his music.
- Moving Away from Polishness
It is impossible to say to what extent a lack of references to Polish music tradition is driven by a change of residence and a life in a new place, and to what extent it is a deliberate decision about compositional style. Palester, for instance, did not incorporate Polish inspirations in his musical language, but he did use lyrics of Polish poets. An interesting approach to Palester and Panufnik’s creative choices can be found in an article by Beata Bolesławska-Lewandowska:
“Palester remained objective in his music. The only trace of his Polish interests was his reaching for poetry… This attitude can be attributed to the fact that Roman Palester, for the twenty years of his work for Radio Free Europe, remained the closest to issues in Poland and it was on his radio broadcasts that he shared his feelings and dilemmas regarding his homeland; Panufnik, however, clearly transferred his emotional involvement in Polish affairs into his music”[11].
- Chances for international recognition
Leaving the country often presented opportunities to present oneself to a wider audience. Two such composers were Panufnik and Tansman, whose music became popular in their new countries. Recently André Tchaikowsky has been rediscovered, not only by Polish promoters, but also, to a greater extent, by British music lovers (for example, David Pountney).
- No influence on style
It seems that in the case of some composers, emigration did not make a significant impact on their musical language. Maciejewski remained a neoclassicist all his life; he wrote mazurkas as a student in Warsaw as well as while a pensioner in Sweden. Krzysztof Meyer, upon his departure from Poland, was already a mature artist, so he did not feel the need to pursue further experiments. Panufnik, almost by default, distanced himself from the avant-garde trends that dominated in Polish music after 1956 (he left Poland in 1954). Instead, he sought his own language, his own individual style of artistic expression.
- Inspirations found in new culture
Weinberg, a composer of many musical incarnations, has been adopted by the Russians as their own composer. For many years Poles forgot that he was their compatriot. During one conference, Zofia Helman mentioned that during Weinberg’s stay in Poland at a Warsaw Autumn Festival, everyone treated him as a Soviet artist. Both his studies and his environment shaped his musical language, which was close to that of Shostakovich, and the nature of his commissions (e.g., he wrote for Soviet cinema). Despite this, he did not resign from inspirations drawn from his first homeland. He reached for the texts of Polish poets as well as for musical quotations from Poland (Tuwim’s poems and The Passenger, an opera based on Zofia Posmysz’s short story). Karol Rathaus, on the other hand, although he used Polish and Hebrew folklore in his work, was not interested in Polish lyrics for his vocal works (e.g., Five Moods after American Poets, op. 57 and Three Choral Songs op. 70 for mixed choir).
Inspirations for composers in a new culture can come from many directions. Sometimes a composer follows a specific professional task. Sikora went to Paris to broaden her knowledge of electroacoustic music, which involved not only acquiring new skills but also gaining access to technology and modern equipment. Panufnik wrote his cantata Universal Prayer to a poem by Alexander Pope, an English poet who once lived in the same town as Panufnik – Twickenham, near London. He also wrote a short piece celebrating the eightieth anniversary of the Queen Mother and a cantata for children, Thames Pageant, depicting various events in the history of England (including the famous rowing competition on the Thames between teams of Oxford and Cambridge students). Kassern, during his stay in the United States, composed operas to English librettos and pedagogical works for his students. Maciejewski composed Swedish dances for the piano and, when he lived in the United States, masses in English. He also composed music for Ingmar Bergman’s plays. There are certainly more examples of Polish inspirations as well as references to the culture of the country where the composers lived in exile; these existed side by side or became intertwined with one another.
In Their Own Words
In conclusion, it is worth noting how artists themselves (or their relatives) perceived their emigration and the emotions connected with it. Let’s start with those who, because of war and Communism, were excluded from musical culture in Poland for a long time. The most painful experiences were shared by “blacklisted” composers such as Panufnik or Palester. The latter wrote about the “costs” of his emigration:
“It was a blow from which you never really completely recover. My name was crossed out of all publications, encyclopedias, etc. My music was no longer allowed to be played or discussed in writing. All of my printed works were sent to be destroyed and library copies were confiscated. Ochlewski was only able to save two or three copies of individual scores and all publishing contracts in progress were canceled”[12].
Panufnik said:
“During my emigration, I have always composed music inspired by events in Poland. My absence was only physical; for 36 years, I have lived in England, but my music has always been closely attached to Poland and recognized as Polish. I was inspired by events from our nation’s history, both old and new…Despite my British passport and gratitude to Great Britain, which has accepted me and facilitated my creative work, I consider myself a Polish composer”[13].
Both composers, despite the pain of rejection, which they suffered due to a lack of interest in their work in Poland, and their longing for their homeland, decided to visit only late in their lives (although the ban on their names and music was lifted in 1977). Palester appeared in 1983, while Panufnik waited until Communism in Poland had officially collapsed, a delay that strengthened the tone of his protest. For him, only the first free elections were a guarantee of real change, so only in 1990 did he accept an invitation to appear as a special guest of the Warsaw Autumn Festival.
It would seem that artists such as Maciejewski suffered fewer professional losses as a result of emigration because they did not officially oppose the government. But can we be sure? Although his works were not withdrawn from libraries, they were not published, played, or promoted (except for a few from the interwar period). Maciejewski himself concluded bitterly,
“I had a strange experience: On a recent evening, when I was listening to a concert organized by the Polish Music Publishers in Kraków on which my Triptych for piano was played, Mr Ochlewski introduced each composer. I felt a bit like a defector when Ochlewski announced that I had disappeared and despite their best efforts, nobody could find me. I will probably write to these genius hunters and reveal my hiding place to them”[14].
It was not until the end of the twentieth century that the activities of the composer’s brother, Wojciech Maciejewski, made it possible to get to know Roman’s works, including those previously unknown that exist only in manuscripts and also the monumental Requiem, which had been presented at the Warsaw Autumn in the 1960s.
Many composers (possibly even most of them), despite living or having lived abroad, did not break their ties with homeland. Even Palester, who perhaps was subjected to the most repression, wrote:
“What they have failed at was separating me from the core of Polish music and culture and, above all, from everyday affairs in Poland. During the first twenty years of my life in exile, I was closely connected to the life of our country. I reacted heatedly to what was happening and discussed all musical and general artistic events. That’s why all this talk about emigration is quite ridiculous, since I was literally connected with national issues from morning to evening! No – it certainly wasn’t emigration!”[15].
Lady Panufnik adds about her husband:
“Of course he missed Poland. Every day he looked through newspapers in search of political news from the country. We talked endlessly about politics and music. You can imagine the excitement in our home when the Solidarity strikes broke out, as well as during subsequent political changes… No, he did not regret leaving Poland. He could no longer stand interference in his life and beliefs. Mainly this was because music was the basis of his existence”[16].
Another level of relationship refers to Trochimczyk’s discussion of having two homelands at the same time. She wrote this about Kulenty, a contemporary composer whose political, technical, and financial opportunities facilitated operating in two cultural worlds almost simultaneously:
“She is not an émigré, but a citizen of both countries. Her children, Kaja and Piotr, have completed two secondary schools, have two matriculation exams (Polish and Dutch), and speak both languages fluently. They are studying in The Hague, thanks to its higher level of musical education and better financial conditions (e.g., free train transportation). They have a house in Arnhem and an apartment in Warsaw, so it is difficult to consider it a complete emigration. Instead she has developed a career in two countries at the same time as well as a double artistic personality”[17].
What should we say about recent times, in which passports and frequent plane flights are not unusual? Dobromiła Jaskot and Dominik Karski are probably in the most difficult situation, because they live far away in Australia. In their interview for the magazine meakultura.pl we can read:
Ewa Chorościan: “We are discussing the subject of Polish composers’ emigration. Do you feel like émigré composers, Polish-Australian composers, or perhaps ‘citizens of the world’?
Jaskot: In my case, I left Poland so recently that I am still very far from feeling Polish-Australian. I definitely feel like a Polish composer. I still need many more years of experience in my new country. But the biggest problem is that in Australia, the music we make sounds strange. We don’t fit into the local new music scene, especially in Western Australia, where we live, so it is difficult to talk about finding ourselves in a new environment yet. It is also difficult to find performers who would devote long months to preparing our compositions. Here, it is primarily graphic writing that is practiced, so the arduous reading of complex scores is a kind of extinct element in Western Australia.
Karski: I have never felt a need to define myself, but given this question, it seems to me that I am an émigré Polish-Australian composer who feels like a citizen of the world. Many years have passed since I emigrated from Poland. Australia is my second homeland and my music is now performed in various countries. I would also like to mention that after fifteen years in Australia, I tried to live in Poland permanently (2007–2014), but for several reasons unrelated to the new music scene, I found that in Australia I feel more like I am ‘at home’”[18].
Various Thoughts at the End
Karski’s statement shows how complex threads about emigration may be and how complicated emotions accompany the notion of belonging to any particular country. This was strongly emphasized during World War II, when many Poles of Jewish descent suddenly became strangers at home. Adam Michnik wrote interestingly about this phenomenon:
“I always have a sense of a certain lack of clarity about my own status – the status of a Pole of Jewish origin, not a Polish Jew. Also, a Pole who really wants to be a Jew for anti-Semites and who always says ‘I am a Jew’ directly in the faces of anti-Semites. This is a special kind of Pole. I don’t hesitate to call anti-Semitism in Poland what it is. This is because I am Polish. This is my national pride and my cultural identity. If I did anything good, I did it within Polish culture and for everything bad, I did that within Polish culture also. At the same time, I feel, excuse my egocentrism, that my grandparents all died in the Holocaust and nobody asked them who they were, whether they were Poles, Jews, or maybe Ukrainians. It was decided for them that they were Jewish and because of this, they had to die. Therefore it is my duty to repeat: ‘I am Jewish’. Because otherwise I would spit on the ashes of my murdered family. I am also a strange Pole who identifies himself with Poland and has no other identity, neither cultural, moral, or ideological, but I am also someone who, when an anti-Semitic phrase is uttered, says: ‘I am Jewish’”[19].
Weinberg, who was born in Warsaw but became a Soviet composer, was in a particularly difficult position. Such a long-term emigration may also cause a sense of homelessness (or perhaps quite the contrary, does owning many homes, as today’s patchwork families do, cause the same emotion?) This issue remains very sensitive; it is different for everyone. An extended emigration forces questions about one’s own identity, belonging, and roots.
In this context, we can name two types of identity:
- hybrid (coexistence of various cultural influences), as in the case of Karol Rathaus, a Polish-Jewish composer who also succeeded in finding a place in America;
- transnational (often referring to people who were not deported from their own countries but feel a sense of solidarity with other nations, for example due to a history of colonization). An example here would be Ludomir Rogowski, in reference to his works related to Slavic folklore[20].
The story of some émigré composers has been, and often still is, a story of a lost generation. This term, as used by Tadeusz Kaczyński, describes a group of intellectuals and artists who successful debuted during the interwar period but later had to emigrate due to political and personal reasons. This caused their lives and compositions to gradually disappear from common knowledge in Poland. This situation was made worse by a reluctance to promote artists living abroad; such a position was common in postwar Poland. In the case of music, the issue of style also played a role, because the musical language of composers who debuted before the war was conservative in comparison with the mid-twentieth-century avant-garde. Kaczyński wrote in the 1970s:
“Isn’t it time to get rid of the common aversion shared by the postwar generation towards prewar composers? Are musicologists really right in their claims that this music is entirely unoriginal? Were attacks on it justified? Did we miss terrific works among the supposed neoclassical trash that we got rid of so happily…? Some musicians of that generation have already died, but others, even worse, were prematurely buried. It is our duty to bring them back into our musical life, not only for the generation that is now passing, but also for the current and future ones”[21].
Nowadays, the concept of emigration has become very blurry in relation to that of the Cold War, for example. The experiences of living in two places, of frequent migrations, and of learning abroad are not alien to many people. With such a complex subject, it may be interesting to answer the question of how artists define themselves, whether a composer considers himself to be an emigrant, or to what extent one simply resides in another geographical area, but is emotionally, mentally, and often professionally connected with his homeland, as if they had never left. Hence questions about emigration and the discussion of its various manifestations are a fascinating and far from exhausted topic.
[1] Anna Iwanicka-Nijakowska, Bojanowski, Jerzy, in Marek Podhajski, ed., Polish Music. Polish Composers 1918–2010, 356–357.
[2] Dorota Szwarcman’s email to Marlena Wieczorek, 9 September 2017.
[3] Jacek Marczyński wrote: “When he finished his education by winning a gold medal in Paris, the Polish authorities started to persuade him to return. Andrzej Czajkowski, then 16 years old, was offered luxurious conditions: studies in Warsaw, an apartment in the Muranów district, invitations to concerts. He arrived and quickly became a star, delighting all with his talent and beauty but also shocking all with his unconventional ways. At a student costume ball, he appeared disguised as Carmen. He looked so attractive that a party dignitary asked him to dance, thinking she was a young singer. Andrzej danced, without correcting the mistake.” Jacek Marczyński, Kim był Andrzej Czajkowski, “Rzeczpospolita” 13 July 2013, [accessed 30 November 2017].
[4] Marlena Wieczorek in conversation with Maja Trochimczyk, Facebook, 10 December 2017.
[5] Klaudia Skrężyna, Mroczna historia z małego miasteczka, “Dziennik Polski” 1 September 2012, [accessed 30 November 2017].
[6] Quote from the documentary Ludmila [Ludmiła], directed by Bohdan Kezik, 2006.
[7] Letter from Roman Maciejewski to his parents, 2 August 1948, Avidingsgatan 6, Göteborg, Archive of the National Library in Warsaw.
[8] Letter from Roman Maciejewski to Wacław Gaziński, 7 August 2017, Rymdtorget 61/III, Göteborg, National Library in Warsaw.
[9] Janusz Krassowski, Kaczmarek, Jan A. P., in Marek Podhajski, ed., Polish Music. Polish Composers 1918–2010, 578.
[10] Jan Kalinowski, Marek Szlezer, Andrzej Panufnik. Życie twórcy w przybranej ojczyźnie. Wywiad z Lady Camillą Panufnik, in Polscy kompozytorzy emigracyjni. Szkice i interpretacje, eds. Herbert Oleschko, Piotr Papla (Kraków: Akademia Muzyczna, 2014), 15.
[11] Beata Bolesławska-Lewandowska, Emigracyjne drogi Romana Palestra i Andrzeja Panufnika, 171.
[12] Palester, Prawda źle obecna, 34.
[13] Quoted in Tadeusz Kaczyński, Andrzej Panufnik i jego muzyka (Warsaw: Polskie Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1974), 85–86.
[14] Letter from Roman Maciejewski to Zygmunt Maciejewski, probably 16 December 1947, Avidingsgatan 6, Giiteborg. Archive of the National Library in Warsaw.
[15] Palester, Prawda źle obecna, 34.
[16] Jan Kalinowski, Marek Szlezer, Andrzej Panufnik. Życie twórcy w przybranej ojczyźnie, 18.
[17] Marlena Wieczorek in conversation with Maja Trochimczyk, Facebook, 10 December 2017.
[18] Ewa Chorościan, “Po zbudowaniu silnej oraz przyjaznej relacji z polskimi wykonawcami, krytykami, muzykami, nie ma siły, która by te relacje zakończyła” – wywiad z Dobromiłą Jaskot i Dominikiem Karskim, MEAKULTURA 2017, no. 272, [accessed 29 July 2018].
[19] Adam Michnik, Dialog, “Tygodnik Powszechny” 16 July 1995, no. 29, [accessed 30 May 2018].
[20] Jolanta Guzy-Pasiak, Emigracja w perspektywie postkolonialnej. Wybrane problemy twórczości polskich kompozytorów emigracyjnych: Karola Rathausa i Ludomira Michała Rogowskiego, “Res Facta Nova” 2011, no. 12 (21), 177–185.
[21] Tadeusz Kaczyński, Zgubione pokolenie. W 50. rocznicę powstania Stowarzyszenia Młodych Muzyków Polaków w Paryżu, “Ruch Muzyczny” 1977, no. 5, 3–4.
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