In our roof garden, large orange and red toadstools have grown, sprinkled with irregular balls that look like rolled-up papers. When November draws in the clouds and starts raining all day long, our toadstools are like living pieces of art, their colours shining through the darkest thoughts.
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–Long day – a guy talks to us in Dudley’s Bar, where we are waiting for a concert by Hania Rani, a Polish pianist and composer. I’m drinking a pint of Blue Ghosts in honor of her new album ‘Ghosts’.
– Oh yes, it’s a very long and exciting day, for us, we came from Galway, because just around the corner in Vicar Street will perform an amazing artist who can do anything in music – says Maciek.
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Every one of you has a story. Be sure to be telling – so said actress Julie Sharkey in her performance about hard-working ‘An ant called Amy’ by director Rymond Keane. Ant finally stopped rushing so much and found happiness. And we at the end of this play were sending our warm thoughts to people who are special to us. We were sending this in ballon we blow by our imagination. I totally slowed down when I was a volunteer at the Baboró International Art Festival for Children.
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I turn on the electro jazz of the Svaneborg Kardyb duo and I am getting off the metro again at Enghave Square in Vesterbo district in Copenhagen. People sit on the wooden sidewalk around, at tables in Navnløs Kaffe & Bar, or on benches, curbs, and lawns next to tenement houses. They have coffee from their own thermos or from cafes. Many eat fresh spandeuer from the local Bageried BRØD.
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Scattered notes in a notebook. Torn pages for shopping lists, crossed out reflections. But there are more and more poems on the phone. Meanwhile, the red-gold-burgundy is getting closer. And who would have guessed that she is the one who chills out my chaos every year?
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When I go through early autumn Connemara, I see yellow, sheen green, burgundy, beige, and grey in the afternoon light. The mountains have rough brown skin and they resemble elephants like when I was on the hike to Carrauntoohil.
Meanwhile, Connemara of Joan Finnegan’s painting emerges from midnight blue to pink, strong green, turquoise, Venetian red, and clear orange sun – every day new. The hills contain colorful stripes and squares. There is a fuschia road from Inishnee across the sapphire blue water and leading to a turquoise mountain under the watermelon sky.
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Puedo escribir los versos a más de 40 grados esta noche Pablo Neruda
When Galway winds blow and the last summer sun shines, I sigh for the city of Hercules – the god of travel. Seville for me is warm yellow mixed with orange peels, blue, and malachite. Brass gates and behind them gardens like from “Tales from the Arabian Nights”. “Red buses and Santa Justa railway station where I get off or get on with flushed face.
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When I wake up in Galway after travel, I look everywhere for cortado coffee. Even if, I only drank black Americano. But, recently, I hit with Spain. And Cadiz became my third home, full of light.
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The rain is dripping on the cherry laurel leaves in my garden. At the gate, I meet my Japanese neighbors who are carrying large bags of rice. We exchange types of soy sauce, because today I make sushi.
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I like all shades of blue and living near the ocean. The cries of seagulls are homely sounds to me. And for several years, cleaning the beach has become part of my life. I have already written about how rubbish opens wide their jaws. That’s why on Wednesday afternoon I’m bursting with energy and I don’t feel tired after work. Because I have a motive.
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