Motto
... words that have the strength to make the hair stand on end.
I immediately understand the subjective truth, which includes an objective reality, because someone it dawned on him.
This is what we call poetry.
Allen Ginsberg ("I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed madness ...")
Part One: The impulse
line - something this intense experience of the transferee, to the extent that we feel only the transmission ...
This testimony from the period of mourning Smolensk Leszek Dlugosz, a poet from the atmosphere, me that once his impatient "smuteczkiem.
... small smuteczki.
...
But enough milk to give the little dog
I no longer smuteczków the stream.
moment of the poet in the TV show John Pospieszalskiego was the impetus to see how it happens that this is the best training ground smuteczkowy schools hitting the mark?
When we are faced with a sudden, people attempt to wisdom and careful use the opportunity to sit quietly, work measuring "higher" reveals the sometimes hypocritical line. Or kabotyńską statement, betraying a complete confusion of jumbling.
examples will not. This text is reflective. Not polemical.
I guess then I suddenly realize with amazement that poetry is nothing but ... "prayer in secret." And can you ever know, but ... I forgot?
enough to remember the first pilgrimage to Czestochowa. August 1985. With the same amazement I saw the wanderer on mountain trails, ridges and peaks, I did not know WHY I COME AFTER THE MOUNTAINS.
But I guess someone knew. A pątniczka, today a modest MP, Joan once a missionary passion, "she said to me, looking at my mountain boots, sandals are worn instead of the pilgrimage:" Ooooh, mountaineer! Welcome aboard. "
I realized that I was "a pilgrim in disguise". Someone prepare me a little to the new routes, and a bit .... I was losing time. Because I admired the beauty of creation, not thinking about this, to whom you owe.
And now? Now I understood that the line can be viewed, issued a public bounty in ekshibicjonistycznym impulse prayer unfortunates who would otherwise not know how to pray. And while the invitation to her.
... ...
using family collections flew quickly verify, or perhaps already more matured to these smuteczków. I wyłuskałem theme, although thoughtful, but surprisingly close: interview shaking poets over the years and epochs tuned lyre ...
Boleslaw - as the name of God will renew
- Here I come
Welcome to life toil
- From a Jewish family of Polish dialects
the being the Brave Apprentice
....
contemporary jewelry, Boleslaw
Please, please ...
... ..
poet Dlugosz hit the nail, but the line is not brought into the studio. Maybe he did not want to follow the lead of a Nobel Prize winner and risk? Too bad.
Remember the "crisis of Warsaw" in late autumn 1980, triggered by arrest Janko Narożniak, a publisher of the Mazowsze Region. The same who shot under martial law during the escape, was released from the hospital and hidden. In the action, as the occupying stories.
meeting of representatives of Warsaw's Solidarity circles in the House of Culture Ursus Mechanical Works, November 1980.
And the line that George Narbutt wrote under the influence of mood, time and brought it to Ursus. Card with a poem was read his audience hectic trade unionists, debatującym on how to respond to this provocation. Immediately, forever became the anthem of Solidarity:
....
And if someone lights up our Polish home
That each of us must be ready
For better we die standing Than
we knelt on our knees to live. ...
That each of us must be ready
For better we die standing Than
we knelt on our knees to live. ...
Well, this is an anthem. Who has not experienced this mood of excitement, intoxication flickering dawn of freedom, seasoned menacing growls, the courage to stand for the time being at a safe distance wilczurów, let him not frown on the pathos and simple rhyme. But it can, however, feel this mood? Does this poem brings it in himself? Do not judge me, I'm not objective.
Is poetry should be of coming "to order"?
takes courage. Not the usual courage - to repression. Sure, that too. Because some of the author and do not have it. More courage. Courage to face up to something larger than us. And the issuance of the blade against the Hydra of unknown talent. Poetry, Epic and ... Thunder Fate. A talent has not shot in such extreme circumstances.
There are various ways to the wisdom of the prophet - epochal.
Is the diary and thoughtful lyrical verse, like poetry silva rerum ?
Is toil effort to right things word, tedious shaping of new words and look surprised them their kits?
Is moral impulse and surrender transferee to become a broadcast ?
maybe all at once, and virtually everything in its time?
Is Kamil Baczynski, although if they lived until September, he wrote to something better, something more "poetic" than Joseph Szczepanski "Ziutek" the "red plague"?
One, probably banal hypothesis - the recipe for the "best" poetry - you can bet. Loneliness and suffering.
Emigrant. A man lacking but not eradicated. Placed on the outside, not looking too eager to discretion, not to force zapuszczający roots. Faced with that look from afar. See and to describe, because it yearns for.
Is it a coincidence that our greatest - it's immigrants?
Is it a coincidence that our greatest - it's immigrants?
Even those who were in the country, people are actually forced to the margins, or, just as Leśmian, Herbert and toutes proportions gardees, Dlugosz - the people who remained by his own choice "on the side."
Where did you get the roses? The Earth is
snow covered.
You go where Copernicus fur coat in the cold in the tower
With the Stars reading.
About this poem by Jan Lechon, his character does not say for sure that
I do not feel the strings, shaking the finger of thy -
are poetry printer!
Both
unfortunate emigrants, distant from each other by age three quarters. One died at the shelter, the second over, shattered by the New York pavement. Do Good, Merciful God will accept him as his friend Boleslaw, who had the good fortune to die before the war? "I count him the hidden prayer? How merciful deeds is worth?
line heralds a sad but not yet deadly despair. Thoughtful and romantic, as if he was dictating Norwid from other worlds. Simply put, a poet.
Both admired and loved Mochnackiego. Him who said that creation by the Poles own literature is a condition of the nation.
Part Two: Memories
Mochnacki. I'll explain this association with remembrance of poetry in the background, the melancholy music of the http://www.jerzywasowski.pl/ , perhaps from http://abcjazz.net.au/ .
(note, if you want to read on and listen at the same time click on the link while holding SHIFT klaiwsz)
(note, if you want to read on and listen at the same time click on the link while holding SHIFT klaiwsz)
passion for poetry and the first of its understanding of the skills I owe her "the lady from the Polish" Aunt Raczynski.
exalted in the strangest way the "red countess." Raw and relentless for the less able, and the notion of lazy students. Indulgent to those who liked poetry - to the alarm of jealousy and resentment, especially girlfriends.
asking to be read and checked the execution without mercy. Constructing elaborate tests with content tracks.
But I fell into a memory is not a test of knowledge, but quite different. Sometime after the start of a lesson on "Kordian", she asked
Who liked it?
I do not know today whether intentionally arranged this classic scene from Gombrowicz Ferdydurke, with dialogue between professor and student Ashface Galkiewicz. " And I do not admire it! "
This brilliant scene impresses even today wit, surgical precision and hyperbolic depth. Therefore I have no pretensions that the author did not foresee that most protagonists of the scene in a minute has passed the practical civic romanticism, dying heroically in several wars, or in cellars, issued to them, and organized by the alumni of various modern philosophy, as idealistic and materialistic.
tried to pass him even the brilliant and iconoclastic, reporting to the Polish consulate in Argentina, after the allocation of mobilization.
certainly had nothing to do with Ashface. Anyway, was at the age of Mr. G. could be a trap, if it were a man. If I had the manners and mentality of some contemporary writers, I came up with some trendy jokes about her appearance and gender.
not met Gombrowicz prześmiewczych any criteria, the designated teachers. With the exception of one. But more on that later.
For now mention what Master - Slayer WszechPowag, Knight of True Existence seemed to deny teachers the time before the Apocalypse, Universal Time.
And it was a teacher before the war survived the horrors of (the war had to be under forty). In a sense, (but only some!), If alive, removed from the papers of the First Polish, (where there Polish, World!) Existential Novels, with which Sartre's arguments are like the nightmares of a young erotomana.
A discussion of Camus, as purring namolnego drunk.
A discussion of Camus, as purring namolnego drunk.
was smarter than most students and longed for this, to talk only to worthy conversation. And had to devote time to all. Therefore, in spite of this intolerable situation, since all require the same. Why most could not cope.
not want to face the challenge which Pimko and Ashface and failed?
Because timid conformist Ashface had a tacit anti-conformist and clever class krętaczy, Unscrupulous manifesting their freedom and indifference to the offered them food for thought.
And haughty and treating his students as being of another species, species of "innocent children" Pimko had no chance of a fair agreement with them.
she, prewar teacher and a carrier funny, przebrzmiałego title, body of carefully selected and extremely unpleasant and irritating, at the age of ungrateful, ingrat age, was the pride of the followers of poetry and majesty of the priestesses of literature.
was not conformist, as Ashface, no. It was not totaled and treats condescendingly, as Pimko. She was demanding and uncompromising. Treat their students seriously.
A front had a flock of głupiutkich, polite children.
No fuss. No brave confessions: "I do not admire, my word of honor, do not admire anyone." Just ... no hands raised to this simple question. With the exception of one.
And why has erected a hand?
, This is a wonderful story about rówieśniku which the old servant, telling stories!
little Johnny where he hid
For a full year, it is difficult to guess.
He boarded a boat and sailed,
And a populous island
sail landed ...
there, the king passed by.
Johnny bowed to the king
... Oh, what a miracle! Kings go by road, with Mont Blanc straight to the royal chambers, jump on horseback by bayonets, not to save lives, but to impress wrażemu commander - Duke, which is not killed because of fear of Tradition. Are they more beautiful and yet it is tales of the real, historical, romantic, a component of independence?
This was the beginning of their strange, "rough" friendship. Pisser and fifteen years old, ugly as night, with the bird, squeaky voice, a woman.
I remember the first lesson. I was new, the second-class high school. Then called the: tenth.
Her introduction to the Polish classes in early September during the late fifties, can not remember. Lessons in class
Grodzisk school name Boleslaw Prus, far away from my town about twenty minutes train WKD.
Grodzisk school name Boleslaw Prus, far away from my town about twenty minutes train WKD.
remember only an inhuman effort and panic that .... not to burst out laughing. I managed to stop the muffled parsknięciu hand, simulated sneeze without arousing suspicion.
That was funny at first contact. She looked like a pelican and danced around the classroom as a crane kłaniający the water at the well, squealing shrilly to emphasize the importance of the spoken words, unaware of his clumsy comedy, romantic like a mask.
class did not respond, of course, already accustomed to the sight and sounds issued, full respect for aunts, listened carefully and politely, and at least prosecutable. Girls in the fundamental attitude of the hands behind the back.
aunt was called a lot worse, but my constant love for her does not even let me quote the words which today have to say something else and do not wish to niekłamanego respect, admiration and hatred sztubackiej mixed with sympathy for raw prof.
I owe her knowledge of spelling better than average. Because education began under the direction of realizing that I'm not so strong as you thought.
A Gżegżółka write like this, and not otherwise. I owe her a deeper awareness of the harmonious development of language, which is the development of spelling was to be a silent witness.
city dweller, I've learned to respect people from the countryside who were living witnesses to the history of the Nation. Because you never made a mistake and ch h in the word cottage or Open and desired in the word frog . Because I had heard and pronounced the word differently than I do.
The severity of the enforcement of school material reward to us that at the time the gained knowledge of literary beauty, and showed sensitivity to gradually teach them. It's logical. How could she show the beauty of poetry ignorantom? First, read
. Then analyze comments smarter than you. Think about it. Sam try. Discuss afterwards. Then I'll tell you what you have overcome difficulties to understand and appreciate. Understanding gets used to the beauty and precision of expression. Discover how to word the first time, standing side by side, dziwują to each other.
"It is true that beautiful?" - Could tell you, waiting for the end of this road, like a good fairy poetry.
ambitious agenda that not all withstand. And she was absolute. Require a "minimum" and did not know mercy. Doused in high school. Fama went out after school. Several of my colleagues has changed her school. To this day, they can not forgive her. Although I finally found my way. Maybe no poetry.
But I liked listening intently to her lessons in her fascination with the Slovak, passionate about the mysteries of the conflict giants of Romanticism. Noted with curiosity the translation unfashionable dilemmas Krasinski, whose nostalgia for the outgoing, quite the old world did not share. Discovering the secrets of poetic metaphors Przyboś that Aunt appeared fairly seasoned though his analysis barely masked hostility.
But I was raised on the poetry Tuwim Brzechwa, Kern and Galczynski, which promoted a cross-section of Krakow, the prestigious weekly rotten intelligence working. The third layer, the only Polish, what we have been. Uncertain, but needed. How to do without dentists, dental technicians, and even dental treatment?
Well, I read as a young toddler have fun on the Green Goose fables, a donkey Porfirionie and fuming stove. I laughed just as my parents. Any other reason. Such multi-layered work.
Today, Americans have learned to make movies for children, with an added layer of a second for adults. In order to not get bored too, how to go with children to the cinema.
Later, on his own apotheosis of enjoying the joy of using quotations from Rimbaud, which he did in a row child is born .
Perhaps for balance, so it was not for the melancholy, I quote from memory:
Rimbaud quote a colleague,
quoting thing niezdrożna,
"J'ai tendu des guirlandes de fenetre
a fenetre;
des chaines d'or de l'letoil;
a l'letoile;
et danse them. "
better not be!
Okay, I checked for spelling, confidence and breaking lines. It turned out that I forgot about the gold chains. :)
As someone curious, Rimbaud white line phrases translated Miedzyrzecki Arthur. But that's not it. Is known about the windows, garlands and gold chains among the stars.
Sorry for astonish foreign languages, but this poem, whose beauty can be available not only for the "French classes." You just need zasłuchać the melody.
... ... ... ... ... ... ....
Aunt issued to me in the end Recitation Contest. Without the success of the committee. Recited a difficult, perhaps too difficult for such a youngster, line Lechon, Mochnacki .
seemed to understand, and a young patriot who threw in exile challenge Europe his talent for piano, like remorse. And while I give tribute to the singer of his wretched, being situated in an incomparably worse off than one hundred years later.
Later still I learned from Norwid that Mochnacki was embroiled in political controversies during the uprising and suffered the humiliation of his countrymen, which put this line in an additional, dramatic light. And he died so young.
Jan Lechon, author of the poem Mochnacki was not just talented. He tried to be wise. Survived Conrad.
But his streak of shadow he could not live happily.
But his streak of shadow he could not live happily.
exalted My interpretation of this knowledge, though anticipated, but the commission probably saw only the exaltations and inaccuracy.
I knew those more fortunate than me and more talented- colleague and friend. Some common plans for the theater of poetry disappeared immediately after the competition, but at least sniffed the smell of bohemians.
were my only appearances at school events. And on student holidays.
aunt was in school, disappointed with my choice polytechnic.
... ... ... ... ... ... ....
Is this class passed the citizenship exam, as Professor Pimko class?
A class was a sea captain, leading to huge tankers today, athletes and activists, the initiator of patriotic celebrations, a few engineers, doctor, some migrants today giving evidence of love for the Motherland. Capable matematyczki, an employee of the university. Polish Army officers, this is what the Party. At the earliest opportunity they were truly the Polish army officers.
Mothers And many Poles. Girls from surrounding villages, arriving at the school your education.
It was a generation that has matured after his crossing, greeted in Poland in 1979, the Pilgrim. Which formed in 1980, the world's largest Delay - the Alliance of Free People.
Can such as she had had its share? For me the answer is simple. I have nothing to do with the brilliant brainchild of Professor Pimko ridicule, which belongs to another world. Absurd world, invincible, contrary to the hopes of genius scoffers, Forms.
There is also much in common with this exalted clumsy comedy, raw, unforgettable Teachers.
Poetry and life, or something personal from Lisa
not only a poet, "is sometimes." Sometimes also a reader of poetry. The mood of exaltation fly away, like the morning mist. The life of a man kidnapped and tears.
From time to time, however, throws something on the ears. Especially when a man does not know how to pray differently.
Leśmian. Staff. French poets (Baudelaire and Prévert), Italian: Quasimodo, Russian: Mayakovsky, Shakespeare's sonnets. Baczynski, that the metaphor of the diamonds, which the firing to the enemies, coined by Kazimierz Wyka.
Norwid. Aniela Kowalska little booklet that showed me how to read it.
Because of too long a stay in the circle of the Roman, under-assimilation of literature, perhaps only by the atmosphere and rhythm, singing English-speaking philosophers: Cohen, Dylan.
Co. today was from these readings, one of those momentary elation?
Maybe this is today the discovery of "secret prayer"?
man seeks the meaning. But today is a man looking for meaning. Somewhere so since Gombrowicz. Whom we all posypało.
Because nineteenth-century man did not look for meaning. He was looking for the best route to your destination. How best to fulfill the obligation. Because the sense was Love. Love of God. Love of neighbor. Love of country. I love this tended to fulfill the obligation. Stuff like that. And so I will not explain. I guess that you know.
Then there was something unheard of. As at the time of eating the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. The man tasted bad. Good and evil become an alternative.
And so somewhere in the late nineteenth century, the sense and nonsense become an alternative. Phenomenology. Fatigue came to the fore, as opposed to the freshness and enthusiasm.
Then we went. In the twentieth century, existentialism has discovered despair. I speak incorrectly. Where is there to discover. Read Chekhov. Ignored, so what came of it.
twentieth century was ingloriously ended up. The philosophy was not to understand the world but to learn how to change it. Changed. She pulled him to the bottom. Led him to despair.
missing, the fourth bard, miriamowe, twentieth-century archaeological discovery in the nineteenth century view of literature as "ancient inscriptions odskrobane", he warned about the death of true poetry. In the solitude of t, toil and passion, though over, ociosywał words:
I do not trample on the grave ... but after the work
I'm walking, what a cemetery filled up with sand
A closing ę ż s t l a t l i we destroyers
I'll call the games to hit with a bang,
... ... ... ... ... ... ....
Whether a warning to date? Why are so responsive to the poems of dead poets? It's not because of the famous movie!
about a year I write for a readership of more than one. That is me. Sometimes for a few friends sometimes for dozens of random surfers. Sometimes even the kind Moderation notice. Niche Kris, Lisa cavity. Or a quirk of the old fool, you need przypilnować, not burnt to the drying of fungi.
When looking for today, in a moment of reflection, the theme of my writings, I find there is suddenly a shadow as the most "global" and "heightened" efforts to continuity.
Allen Ginsberg, American poet once loud late hippie era bitników and a man of my remote works well, and philosophy, whose quirks you never knew and to quirks that I do not miss now. Recently, however, expressed something transferee and distinctive.
longing for continuity relay Bard, called in Polish vyeshchami carrying the Torch for generations. That meant the continuity of twisted ideological mainstream, wyganiającego devil fiend?
A had. But his emotion because of finding a successor bards of the fifties in the person of Bob Dylan was the remarkable intuition.
my opinion, this idea of \u200b\u200bcontinuity is something important I did not know how to express and what Poles need. And Americans, this young nation, formed probably enough to withstand the madness "infantile leftism of the disease," they have. As to this unfortunate disease, will give advice. Well, because if they, more than two hundred years niepodlegli and winners do not survive, then who? Weekend Guide
moral impulse is driven. Seeking a man can err. But until and unless it looks impossible to corrupt by the end of evil whisperings of the world, nothing is lost.
Is the text of one of the most popular songs Bard hippies is not disturbed by the same moral impulse?
... how many times can a man turn his head Pretending he just
Does not see?
Does not see?
Compare this with
Be faithful Go
Is not it the same call to bear witness?
Poetry from the moral imperative, carried by the pulsating rhythm is absorbed by thousands of devotees. The torch is built up and passed a successor. Now who?
Poetry from the moral imperative, carried by the pulsating rhythm is absorbed by thousands of devotees. The torch is built up and passed a successor. Now who?
For them it is a period of Troubles. But peace of mind. Just look at how the successor will be. Underdog quickly turn over a table.
Emigrants. Internal and external. Solitary. Because loneliness is a prerequisite of being a poet. Spiritual Independence. Well, brilliant talent.
not just "run from the avalanche of change .." or even "You have a little time, you need to bear witness ..."
These are grepsy półinteligentów, irritated that their opinion in Poland is too much ćwierćinteligentów. Grepsy, not the inspired words, from which it has ever faced in their hair on the head.
looking for yet, from time to time, when we become readers of poetry for a while, that word, that puts hair on his head. Or simply:
Poem, which is hidden prayer.
Sometimes all it takes to listen and understand the blind, nieuczonego, perhaps even illiterate bluesmena.
I hair stand. Here's the answer to the question, what is the soul of man:
I read the Bible Often
I try to read it right
As far as I could understand
It's nothing but a burning light
Blind Willa Johnson
... more Polish: Has the evangelical depth, thus losing Pardon bluesy rhythm to minstrel songs. Let it be polonized also rhythmically:
When the Lord enters into the temple
People are amazed
let lawyers try
Resurrect a man already in prison
Mochnacki argued, as has been said that in order to survive as a nation, we need to create your own literature. John Paul II spoke about the crucial importance of national culture for its survival.
condition we met with a vengeance.
We owe the survival of all those who do not znielubili Nation, did not intend ... schrzaniać thence if need be.
who formulate requests and work on their implementation. Creating a national culture.
Nothing is given once and for all. Dead poets - poets cry for successors.
Lechon After the death in exile in the country, internal exile, he was steadfast Herbert. He died spat upon, as a man insane.
After Herbert, Polish wieszczu liberated from the clutches of the plague of the twentieth century attempts to take his place Rymkiewicz. Risking epithets lackeys.
not the first nor the last. If you praise, then beware. This is an alarm signal.
What's a poet. Any stubborn and tenacious seeker of truth let him beware.
And I, simpleton, what nicer consumer occasional poems?
Today, I will not play the game "10x - what I like." Today, you just do what I like. Like? Maybe this bad word.
pray in secret, or listen to one more, no more, blues, Blind Willi. Or read a poem Lechon. Or perhaps we should recall the mournful song of a poet Kaczmarski Bruno, which does not burn Paris, or frozen in an endless, snow-covered steppe, under the watchful eye of kałmuckiego brother - but simply guard was killed in Polish - Russian brother of the globe - enforcer.
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..
And what I like, really?
like to be happy,
Pasjami
like to be happy
not know
as there happens to you,
may have a different taste ...
