Recently, I have been wearing corduroy trousers again. This time in Tobacco colour. I find in them lines from poems, cigarette smoke from student days, and the fragrance of Cracow. Because dust from many places settles on the corduroy, and between the stripes is my character – a pinch of nostalgia, rebellion, and the amber sun.
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Blue Monday was introduced to the calendar as the most depressing day of the year by UK psychologist from Cardiff. January is probably very gloomy and wet in the Welsh capital located on the Bristol Channel, major inlet extent to the North Atlantic. I can imagine it because we have in Ireland the same, even worst.
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Recently, I have been translating the poems of my favorite poet Michelle O’Sullivan into Polish again. The first piece from the book The blue end of stars is preceded by an interesting quote from the Czech poet and scientist Miroslav Holub. In surprise I find the answer that I have been looking for so many years.
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I went to Lisbon impressed by Wim Wenders’ film Lisbon Story. The blue-yellow city situated on the hills and the red Ponte 25 de Abril bridge over the Tagus river appeared from the plane’s window exactly like in the movie.
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A January morning on the northeast coast of the Atlantic is getting longer. Galway’s roofs shine white, not rain. I make coffee and I open a special book that my friend sent me for Christmas.
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Feelings are roads, with different colours and surfaces. In New Year, I arrive on a skateboard. A ginger horizon stretches before me. Colours are signposts, although they keep changing, I like to follow them.
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