Chana gave Kóba (yes. the spelling is correct) her heart, but he gave his to Malwa. Unwanted, both hearts were lost, both died, dried, and left gaping holes. Emptiness, contrary to its definition and all appearances, does not tolerate gaps; they must be filled, even though there is nothing to fill them with. The breach on the left is filled with emptiness from the right, and then vice versa, and by the principle of such autopoietic dynamics, the world is born and unbridled – it develops, hissing like lime thrown into water, heading towards inevitable destruction. Creating myriads of colourful, apparent but delusionally realistic and entrancing images. That is, a story that goes round and round, embodied in the image of a snake wrapped up in itself. Like Drach, by the way – and that conclusion made me a little dizzy. But I will remain standing.
Radek confirmed my assumptions on how certain themes should be interpreted. Anyway, some were quite obvious, like – above all – a certain Gnostic base of symbols; even if some were hidden, it was only very subtly, just below the surface. But the question of general, shall we say, philosophical, ethical or moral interpretation was not quite clear to me. And it still isn’t, although the author has explained some things to me. So I will say no more for now, because I do not know exactly what I think, or perhaps I will not say anything at all, because I do not need to know. Or, let me say at least this: the fact that the breach is where the heart was, and not, for example, the liver (as it is sometimes the case in stories) or another organ, is a signpost that leaves, or allows, a little reassurance. Perhaps.
The line-up takes shape: strings, two percussionists and a rather unusual ensemble of six soloists – violinists. Plus voices, I think three female voices, very diverse in expression and in other ways. Some of these choices are the continuation of a long and successful collaboration, some are the result of conversations and interesting suggestions, and some are my own research. I will disclose it all gradually. The première can be expected in Tychy in the fall.
Work on Leśmian goes surprisingly smoothly. It is a bit of a challenge to find the time, but the headspace opens up quite painlessly. I am in the middle of song one, Deaths. It flows, in a little imitative way, in a little modal way, and partially in a central-tonal way. For some reason, Hindemith is on my mind all the time, especially Marienleben, but rather without any deeper connections. There is (in Leśmian) a surprisingly large amount of irony here, which is sometimes virulent; there are quite a few perverse punch lines. Horror appears sometimes, intermingled with grotesque. But overall it is lyrical (I use that word never knowing quite what it means, but I like it nonetheless).
The world around is wobbling. It is falling into the abyss. Bad news: there is no parachute; good news: there is no ground either, as suggested by one jolly drunk.
(transl. Magdalena Małek-Andrzejowska)