Poem

Uffda!* he recognized the pain
like the taste of fresh strawberries
that he used to mix with cream
in summer

Uffda! he repeated again this time to be heard
they were not strawberries
that was sweat tainted red
that streamed down drip drop trickle prickle
from his left ear



* uffda - in Norway when you hurt yourself

photo: www.myfotos.pl

After a long break

I haven't been writing for a long time. No harm. With so few people reading the posts, nobody should feel hurt. Anyway, it's been a time of unbearable fight with myself, hard work on my thesis, meeting new interesting people, doing with them plenty of things I wanted to do, yes, that would be it for now. I couldn't stand my old template design and although the new one may strike you and for a short moment you may feel confused about it, it somehow describes my present (but only temporary) state of mind. It's not that bad really, I just felt like choosing this one. No explanation needed. Now, in the first place I'd like to say a couple of things to myself and people that I shared something with, yo que se.. a pen, a couple of hours or a bed. First, I wanna give thanks to myself for creating a nice bookshelf with books. I love the collection, but at the same time am worrying about a new madneyeyess of mine. Namely, recently I've been fond of buying films too, which will certainly equal to my saving up being a complete failure. Anyway, in a way I am proud of myself for not trying to socialize with whoever crosses my way. I like being on my own, doing those scribble dibble (sorry, I made it up) things that few of you consider enjoyable. Surely, I still have plenty of time for those that I love or respect.
Other thanks go to...


Dear Mr Umbrella,
it was fun meeting you and being friends with you. I guess that didn't look like friendship, but it doesn't matter since we are happy now where we are, that is in different parts of the world and so different states of thought. One day I will travel myself. But not long. I find introducing myself to new people tiresome. Besides, I hate packing and unpacking. Just between you and me, I never unpack when I visit a place. It may sound odd, but I want to believe that I will come back home soon. But yes, visiting new places is fun.
All the best,
The Girl That Had Hair Long Enough To Pull

It looks I'm a bit tired and I need to postpone my letter writing and thanks giving. See you. Next thank-you letter should go to Miss Fish. Love.

Disturbed

The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature born abnormally, inhumanly sensitive. To him... a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create - so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, his very breath is cut off from him. He must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency he is not really alive unless he is creating.

Pearl S. Buck

Perfection and completeness.

 

Tak się kończy

jeśli zdarzy się tak, że zwariuję
z rozpaczy z nadwrażliwości uszu
z poczucia winy
zabij mnie jak zabija się muchę
gwałtownie bez namysłu
gdy krąży jeszcze przy twoim czole
zanim napije się niezdrowej krwi

jeśli zwariuję
z naddbałości o szczegóły z nienawiści
i tęsknoty jeśli zwariuję
nie zastanawiaj się zabij mnie
nie wiem czym - nie jestem ekspertem
złośliwym tylko człowiekiem
jestem plamą na twoim ciele

kiedy zwariuję
zapomnę przez co kiedy dlaczego
będę ich tylko nienawidzić 
bardziej niż teraz
dlatego nie czekaj zabij natychmiast
gdy zobaczysz, że źrenic otwierają się chmury
i ronią zapchlony deszcz

zabij zwariuję bacznie obserwuj
zabij ja truję zabij zanim
poznam cały alfabet przekleństw
zanim usłyszysz jak pluska w studni
zanim chlapnie w twoje oko
i rozmnoży swoje źródło
zabij proszę i zapomnij
o tej szarej półce duszy nie mojej
o niewytłumaczonej skazie myśli
i niepohamowanych słowach goryczy




przepraszam tylko
Słowika, który co dzień ciepłem pióra kocham
Sowę, co silnym okiem cała skałą kocham
i Przepiórki tak niewiele było tych co pokochałam
przepraszam

Emily in the Woods

how long is the longing

how rainy is the rainy day

when Emily opens her eyes it looks as if

they'd been raining her dream out

and that storm on her head

does not foretell

a bright morning dress

how patient can a person be

whose heart's just been saved from thunder

but still shivers the leafy on the wind

how grateful should she be

for the 200-acre forest that means no life

but bushes of wet trampled blueberries

who likes eating mushrooms

Emily has always been (yuck!) detesting them

she's never eaten one

nor has she smelled any of them

this is us, this is our forest

which will never be our home

since we'll always find a mushroom to grimace at

and a blueberry to mourn...

Me, the Teacher

Being a teacher is fun. I really believe it is. Apart from loads of checking/correcting stuff and constant hunting for inspiration to make a lesson enjoyable, there are the people for whom you pull yourself together. I like listening to them, I'm always happy to hear from them what's "shakin' " now.. As for teenagers, I love them speaking about (or rather mumbling because they're usually a bit ashamed of) having a boyfriend/ girlfriend. Of course they don't want me to know, I'm a stranger, somebody they think has no idea about anything. An alien. Might be.

I like being listened to, that's why I am who I am. I am a teacher. Sometimes they don't listen to me at all. Sometimes they tell on me, that's not fair. I am a put-the-blame-on-me teacher.

I like acting in front of others, that's why I am who I am. I am a teacher. I tend to talk too much and it's not necessarily interesting. I should be more a now-it's-your-turn teacher.

I like observing other people's behaviour and reactions. I've recently discovered that boys can argue about trivial things too. I realise it is no use threatening fourteen-fifteen year olds with a bad grade. I am an almost know-all teacher.

I like looking through books. Heaven forbid I happen to be in a bookshop. I am addicted to spending money on books. But that's probably not that bad. I am just a spend-it-all-they-may-be-useful teacher.

And when I finish my lessons, I'm so worn out that I'd rather not listen to anything of that. Oh, until the next day that is to say.

There are times when I wonder how much energy and devotion there is inside me to spare. Will it be enough for a next year? Or for having a try in a state school for a change?

People

Glossy bossy people 
they never pass through my brain
just see them crossing the streets
and sometimes presume they're bubbles 
boorish foolish
satisfied with being a lamp
that has no light bulb

what are they
doing what
bashing
proud of their flashing
boards of expensive sequins

Purple pens

Purple pens

they write so well
they scratch against the paper roughly
when I want to yell

My purple pens
are eager to create
I can feel in my fingernails they want to dance
and tell the story which won't pass my mouth

My dear purple pens
one day I'll show them to you
you might be afraid to enter the world of lines
so straight and perfect like they were new

My dear light purple pens
you are so obedient and disagree almost never
should I break you to have the effect
or change you, but is it really clever?

Why, my dear light purple pens, no offence
remember? we used to play together at nights
words so akward but wanting to dance
as if allowed frivolty as if happy to be filled with colour

Xtreme Te Extrano ~ Original version

Dziesiątego kwietnia

Zapaliły się światła zadrżały głosy
Bo skłębione nieba chmury miały słońca tego dosyć
Niewidzialnego tak niedocenionego koloru żółci
Pozwoliło temu niebu wycisnąć kropel szereg

Tylko dlaczego nie widzę już ich twarzy
Jakby zginęły w ciemnym obłoku cmentarzy
Zdeptałeś deszczu swoimi kroplami ich losy
Ty deszczu co przeziębiłeś tych postaci głowy

I na ptaka co frunął beztrosko będziesz składał winę
Pokaż czego się nauczyłeś tym razem czynem
Możesz zakrywać oczy lecz usta powiedzą same
Kim jesteś gdy cień pada na twą szyję

Czy jest im zimno czy robaki wygryzają im głowy
Deszcz okrutny zamienił ich żony we wdowy
A żony tych mężów co czekali w domu
Nie udowodnią swej siły na ziemi

Więc po co stoisz z nożem co dzień
Co stoisz
Po co dzień
Więc nożem
...

[*]
Dla tych, co zginęli oraz tych, co giną w codziennej walce

Coping with Stress

They gave us this course, you know, and it's called Coping with stress. And I had to take part in an e-learning forum, which was to suggest some web pages about solving stress problems for teachers. I have to say it was kinda difficult and time-consuming since I couldn't find anything new, original, say, innovative. It seems everything's been already said. Funny, isn't it? Because having all those tips and posssibilities, we don't look or feel less stressed, do we? That's why I changed my ways and tried to make use of some jokes and humour I saw on one of the pages I looked through. 


Let me start with stress prayer:

Still, some people know that praying might not be enough. What you need to do is take steps, do something, solve the problem. Here are some instructions, it's as simple as that:

And the problem solved/ eliminated/ hidden... Hope you liked it.

(http://wolfescape.com/Humour/WorkStress.htm)

Mój wybór

irytuję cię swoim uśmiechem
złoszczę odruchem brwi
niepokoję spuszczonym wzrokiem

jak będziesz wychodził zamknij za sobą drzwi

irytujesz mnie kiedy zaglądasz tak niepewnie
i jak kukiełka stoisz pasywnie u stóp
jednym drgnięciem nogi ci splotą

kiwająca się na nogach kukło ja poznam twój chód

to będzie nasz film założę się, że ci się spodoba
bo nie rozumiesz znaczenia mych słów
spośród kredek kolorów wybrałeś różowy

to był zły wybór, nie będziesz więcej psuł mi już snów

to będzie nasz film niezgrana para
lalka, co czeka na ruch swego lalkarza
co potrzebuje rozkazów, bo inaczej płocha jak sarna

nie o to chodziło, idź stąd i się nie obrażaj

irytuję swoją niechęcią
swoją złością i swoją ironią
nie pragnij bym była odpowiedzią
na twe niepewne jutro

twoja skóra zapachu nie ma
nie czuję nic
ale gdy tylko odkocham się
w wietrze, co pozwala mi śnić
jak pieści i tuli jak w nocy pod kołdrą
kiedy tylko przestanę pustym snem żyć
stanę na wycieraczce twego mieszkania
i gdy otworzysz powiem
mówiłam, żebyś zamknął za sobą drzwi..

photo: www.myfotos.pl

I've got a reputation to maintain!

... these are words of my heroine, my queen and my idol, Hyacinth Bucket (read Bouquet, certainly..), the wife of Richard Bucket, the poor devil, and a neighbour and friend of Elizabeth (that's the one who "is all thumbs" and "drops things"), and finally the mastermind and the hostess of the most famous in the area candle light suppers. The roles Hyacinth (Patricia Routledge) plays in the comedy series ("Keeping Up Appearances") are many. Despite impeccable qualifications to entertain on social gatherings, perfect manners and organizational skills in case Daddy is missing or rather, "gets mislaid", she sings amazingly ... audibly and shows herself in the most exquisite hats I dare say any British person wouldn't be ashamed of. That's enough for now. There will be probably more in the future, but as for now I'm leaving you with some nice quotations from a residential area in which "the Bucket woman" lives!

Hyacinth: (answering the telephone) The Buckeeet (some people believe it's pronounced Bouquet) residence, the lady of the house speaking!

H: Richard, don't shout. It's so common.

H to Richard again: I can hear you breathing, dear. It's not nice to get people breathing.

Richard, who likes Onslow and argues with Hyacinth about it: (...) but he enjoys his life!
Hyacinth: Exactly! What kind of irresponsibility is that!

The dispute continues and pulls in Violet, Hyacinth's sister, the one H boasts about, it's the one with Mercedes, sauna and room for a pony:
R: Onslow is cheerful, Violet is always moaning...
H: Richard, it is no way of speaking about the owner of the new Mercedes!

Hyacinth to Elizabeth, who is known for getting nervous and dropping Hyacinth's best china when in H's presence:
H: Now, we'll have my best china if you promise to be careful, OR a beaker...
E: (after a couple of crucial seconds, fear painted on her face) Beaker, Hyacinth, definitely beaker!
H: I think that's wise, don't you?

Now, I don't understand why you (I'm looking at you, Emmet and you, Vicar, and okay, many others) why you hide from THE BUCKET WOMAN?!

Awake

I don't want to sleep
not this time when I hear the music
not in this place by the uncurtained window
lying face to face with darkness
and covered with rough material it rubs my skin
and the light colour of the walls
it blinds my dreams

I can't find a place
that would calm my arms and massage my chest
there's no time that would let my lips
speak with no feeling of coldness
it freezes my face
I can't even produce a single smile
oh shut up, bloody winter!

And even colours are hard to find
those that would provoke me
to touch to discover to get surprised
those that would bring a relief
those that would not let the wind come
it's blowing so fiercely tonight
I can't stop it by myself

I will never sleep
that's what I know almost for sure
and do I want to sleep
am I happy with hopes being tramped
with narrowed time for cheerfulness

because what if I fall asleep
and a sudden quake of happiness comes
and not daring to interrupt my dreams

will go away...

photo: Stanisław Drężek

W moim teatrze

życie jest teatrem
pisało o tym wielu
nie będę się powtarzać
i zaśmiecać scenę kolejną pieśnią
nie zamierzam też krzyczeć, by usłyszeli inni
wkradnę się na scenę tak cicho
jak zawsze gdy inni potrącają mnie tylko ramieniem
w biegu po monotonię szarych spraw,
założę kapelusz i krawat przełożę przez głowę
koszuli kołnierz podniosę
twarz zakryję ciężkim pudrem
usta błyszczeć się będą

na tych deskach będę tańczyć
śpiewem pobudzać do aplauzu
najlepszą aktorką
i artystką na tej scenie będę
będę się śmiać i szydzić
niech odejdą zniesmaczeni
widzę ich co dzień
nie będę łkać zostanę sama
jak teraz, gdy marzę
gdy w błyskotkach twarz i na ramionach skrzydła
baw się ze mną wietrze
jedyna istoto na tej ziemi
co świeża jak wiosna po zimie
i przeszywa rozkosznie

marzyć będę już słyszę muzykę
jeszcze buty obcas kolor złota
będę się kręcić włosy zbijać w tornado
będziesz pytać kim jest ta osoba
co śmieje się bez powodu
i będziesz świadkiem mojej śmierci
tej, która nada życiu nowe imię
zapytasz znowu, co się wtedy czuje?
jeśli wiesz czym bezkresne szczytowanie jest...


a niech się patrzą ci
co i tak nie widzą
zastaną mnie na trawie mokrą
od rosy
a wewnątrz będę śpiewać
zostaw mnie tak, Rozkwitam

photos: Stanisław Drężek