A moment...

Heavy dreaming in the morning, up late... The morning is pretty dispersed and I don't get much done.

One thing worth mentioning though is a collection of poems by Wisława Szymborska I got from my flat mate. She wanted to give it away... I notice the book on the table, open the first page and read the first poem "Chwila". I could never really relate to poetry, but it's not the case with W.Szymborska's sensibility.

JotD.

In the afternoon I meet a collegue who helped me with some practicalities here. I invite her for coffee as a little thank you, and she shows me around the Muswell Hill area. I.e. Alexandra Park. Then she invites me to the pub for cider. A beer on the Monday afternoon?! Well, I'm just a weak man without the will, so obviously say 'yes' to this.

After dinner I find myself thinking too much, as during all the day today, a typical result of sleeping too long. I take a bath and then a cold shower that usually helps to go back on earth. Yep, it does the trick today as well.

A transition moment for me is a beginning of guitar practice though. A moment of sincere gratitude can have a transformative effect indeed.


There are 3 weeks before the end of my current commitment.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

CHWILA

Idę stokiem pagórka zazielenionego.
Trawa, kwiatuszki w trawie
jak na obrazku dla dzieci.
Niebo zamglone, już błękitniejące.
Widok na inne wzgórza rozlega się w ciszy.

Jakby tutaj nie było żadnych kambrów, sylurów,
skał warczących na siebie,
wypiętrzonych otchłani,
żadnych nocy w płomieniach
i dni w kłębach ciemności.

Jakby nie przesuwały się tędy niziny
w gorączkowych malignach,
lodowatych dreszczach.

Jakby tylko gdzie indziej burzyły się morza
i rozrywały brzegi horyzontów.

Jest dziewiąta trzydzieści czasu lokalnego.
Wszystko na swoim miejscu i w układnej zgodzie.
W dolince potok mały jako potok mały.
Ścieżka w postaci ścieżki od zawsze do zawsze.
Las pod pozorem lasu na wieki wieków i amen,
a w górze ptaki w locie w roli ptaków w locie.

Jak okiem sięgnąć, panuje tu chwila.
Jedna z tych ziemskich chwil
proszonych, żeby trwały.

* * * * * * *

A MOMENT

I'm walking on the slope of a hill newly green.
Grass, small flowers in the grass,
just as in a children's book.
Hazy sky, already turning blue.
A view of other hills spreads out in silence.

As if there had been no Cambrians or Siluries here,
rocks growling at one another,
upthrust abysses,
no fiery nights
nor days in clouds of darkness.

As if no plains had moved through here
in feverish delirium,
in icy shivers.

As if only elsewhere had the seas been churning,
tearing apart the edges of the horizon.

It is nine-thirty local time.
Everything is in its place and in genial accord.
In the valley, the small stream as a small stream.
The path as a path from always to ever.

Woods in the guise of woods world without end amen,
and on high, birds in flight as birds in flight.

As far as the eye can see a moment reigns here.
One of those earthly moments
implored to linger.

Wisława Szymborska