So it is done. A nearly hour-long, two-part this time, piece was created. In the first part, first Agnes and then Alojs hold their monologues, as it were, introducing themselves and outlining the drama briefly, barely suggesting it, referring to it, if you please. And in the second part they enter into a dialogue happening as if after everything. As if in the hereafter, or nowhere, as if everything had come to an end, there was silence in the empty space interrupted only by the echoes of previous events and gusts of affection, so to speak. Perhaps this is the final end, or perhaps a temporary suspension before the next beginning in an endless cycle of returns.
This question, by the way (eternal return vs final end), is one of the linchpins for the entire trilogy. It is an unanswered question, but certain intuitive feelings, perhaps sometimes certain hopes, and sometimes total lack of delusions arise from the combination of text and music here and there. Hopes and lack of delusions, of both me and Szczepan. We are here, I think, in an interesting counterpoint to each other. Or maybe we are not in any counterpoint, but the contrast, say, between darkness and light, hope and despair, delight and horror is present here and there, only it is leaning more here once, and then more there, remaining in a state of unstable equilibrium, like a ship on a wave. But we didn't talk about it much.
POKORA (Humility) returns to Silesia. After departing for completely different areas in SYRENA (Siren) – what was, I believe, much needed, like “a holiday on sea”, providing an internal context for the whole thing – certain themes present in DRACH return. These connections are not obvious, and I do not want to point them out here, because I myself sense them more than I understand them, but I do sense them clearly. The Silesian motifs are still primarily universal, but in the context of place and time they gain special meanings, and I have the impression that this context is present here, in POKORA more directly, less allusively, more defiantly. The relationship between Agnes and Alojs can be read as a certain strong, bitter metaphor. A desperately sad metaphor. But it does not have to be. It was an important passing for me personally, by the way. I know and understand a little more than I did three years ago. Both myself and my identity. Actually, I am a bit somewhere else. Actually, I think I am a bit more.
POKORA is enclosed in a frame: a bitter reflection on power; on relations in power. But at the very end that bitterness dissolves; the grip of the frame loosens. This semi-opening is mine, I needed it. It came to me suddenly, with a very strong conviction, that it must simply make its way there. It can be interpreted and understood in many ways – just like the entire piece. "It is allowed to believe”.
As I have already mentioned, it is possible that the whole trilogy will be performed in Tychy in November. I will then publish the entire text and perhaps return to the subject for a while.
And what now? Now I need to “regroup” internally a bit. I wouldn’t say rest, because somehow, for some reason, the idea of resting makes me sick. In any case, I intend to continue the weekly coverage, although there is a short break in actual composing ahead of me. But the break is incomplete, because in September, as it turns out, I am to prepare an orchestral version of the Baczyński Songs – those written at the turn of winter and spring. And then, roughly from the new year but in some ways certainly also earlier, a big thing is coming.
(transl. Magdalena Małek-Andrzejowska)