Shadows.

Wiesław Myśliwski talks about his own identity in his extensive quasi-autobiography entitled W środku jesteśmy Baśnią [Deep inside, we are a fairy tale]. He talks about peasants and the countryside. He speaks using a separate and personal voice. Powerful and deep. Full of peace, but, truth be told, I am shaken. That voice resonates in me quite intimately. It reminds me of something I cannot remember; it explains something to me.


I am a peasant. A battered ox, a horse and a mole. My sun revolves around a flat earth. It is casting shadows, which I take to be guards and guides. I used to sing about them.


I know a few who have thrown the rope away and went over the horizon. They were amazed to discover that earth is not flat and the sun is not revolving. And that shadows are just that.


I went there myself, and I wanted to be amazed too. And I relished it all. I wanted to sing in a different way, but my heart and lungs started to ache.


So I’m digging, and digging; I’m pulling the rope, humming, and I’m beginning to remember. Not without victims.


Kóba is talking to the snake. He is about to embark on his final journey, with a few more adventures to happen along the way. He will almost die, but he will be reborn. With a lot of victims.


The Leśmian cycle is nearing to a close much faster than I had thought. It will close on song five, apparently.


Happy Easter. Good grief.


(transl. Magdalena Małek-Andrzejowska)