Scars.

I’d like to come back to wounds and scars for a bit, because I meant something different (I meant something, contrary to all appearances) – that the continuity of memory is like the continuity of tissue. Meaning – it is a little frail. It can be breached, shallowly or deeply, and the deeper the wound, the more painful and long-lasting it becomes. The restoration mechanism is effective, but its astonishing speed comes at the cost of faithfulness to the original – wounds leave scars ; and these scars are not unnoticeable. First they itch, and then they sometimes hurt. They change the form and sometimes the functionality of the tissue, too. They disfigure, one might say. Wounds in memory, in turn, do not appear as a violation of one’s own structure (like a hole in the hand or in the stomach), but of the structure of the world. A terrible, treacherous mechanism. As a result of the wounds that the memory suffers, it is the reality that becomes painful and disfigured. But it is not the reality that needs caring for, against all painful appearances, but ones own unreality. An additional difficulty appears in that in order to dress a wound like that, you need a mirror. And good mirrors are hard to come by; they are all curved.


The Reptile is finished. A few more words about Leśmian on this occasion. The selected poems (written in couplets) are arranged in oppositions, one may say. Melancholy and death alternate with wildness and urges. Desire, excitation, and a rush towards the climax; with violence, followed by emptiness and silence. Bolek is not a good boy. By the way, any and all interpretation is is bound to cut corners to make the work fit into a structure dictated by politeness. Well, maybe not any at all. Perhaps these are just my wounds and my scars talking.


The Tale is also growing. Kóba meets a snake, saves it from certain death, and makes a wish. Kóba is not a good boy either.


Twelve years ago I was sleeping in the guest room of Teatr Wielki – Polish National Opera in Warsaw. I woke up after 8, we were to have a rehearsal of Sudden Rain at 9.With soloists and the choir. We all met in the chamber hall, when suddenly the stage manager rushed in, shouting about Russia, war; the rehearsal was cancelled.


(transl. Magdalena Małek-Andrzejowska)