'Drowning of Marzanna' is an old Polish tradition, performed at the
beginning of Spring. (If you are just reaching for your phone to call Amnesty
International, stop just right there.) Marzanna doesn't feel, doesn't speak or
see. She is a doll made of hay, wood and scraps of materials. As a symbol of
passing winter she is set on fire and thrown to a river, so she can take the
Winter with her and carry it to the sea.
When I was a child we used to spend a whole day at school making Marzanna.
Some of us were responsible for hands, others for legs, head and hair. Our
effigy was always colourful, decorated with flowers and ribbons. The ritual of
burning and drowning of Marzanna was done during a field trip to the nearest
canal. There was something wonderful about the whole march through the town.
People were cheering and some joined us in our celebrations.
In today's Poland only very small children drown their Marzannas. That's why
I didn't refuse when my sister invited me to Poznan to take part in 'Marzanna
funeral procession'. I haven't done it for 20 odd years and the idea of feeling
like a child again was very tempting.
The day was organised by Cafe Glosna, which is a new art cafe in the city
centre. Here you can have a nice coffee or something stronger, buy books and
some hand made accessories. The owners organise very unusual workshops and
lectures, where you can learn how to carry your baby in a shawl or find out
more about Eskimos.
We met on Saturday in the Cafe with the
others involved. A colourful small crowd gathered around tables to make
rattles. They used plastic bottles, dry beans and colourful paper. Everyone was
welcome, so mothers came with their children who, fascinated, cut paper, painted
cans and made a lot of noise.
The skeleton for Marzanna had been prepared in advance and a few girls
attached legs, hands and head. Our doll wasn't pretty (Marzannas usually
aren't), but she smiled sweetly and seemed happy she was finally going away.
The day was beautiful. Sun was shining , warming us all with its beautiful
rays. The streets looked tidier and people happier. Even more so when they saw
our small procession.
At the head of it a few people carried our Marzanna, followed by a Balkan
orchestra (not originally from Balkan, but played beautiful music from the
region) and, finally, two guys dressed as zombies carried a very sad snowman.
Everyone who attended the workshop in the Cafe had their rattles with them and
made one huge noise. Suddenly, there were hundreds of us. People came out of
their houses and shops and many followed us to the Warta River.
Children were the most curious and fascinated by it all.
Poor Marzanna was set on fire at the River and thrown in to its depths to
accompaniment of cheers, shouts and rattles.
The day finished with a nice picnic and then a short after party in Cafe
Glosna.
Now, when I'm sitting in my flat in London, I'm looking outside my window
and admire the geourgous sunshine, I am even more sure that the Winter is gone.
It has disappear in Warta River and moved out with Marzanna. I just hope they
won't come back too soon.
