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On the tables at The Secret Garden, I lay out my poems—printed with a special graphic design in English, Polish, Spanish, and Portuguese. Svitlana hands me a bouquet of autumn flowers. I prop up banners featuring my poetry next to sugar bowls and small vases. We set up the microphones.

Mara arranges a chair for Sinéad Ann beneath a tree and a lantern. I busy around my own table, right under a bookshelf. Just then, an ginger cat brushes against my legs. I lean down and stroke its soft fur. Guests take their seats, ordering tea and homemade cakes. Fabric draped from the ceiling forms golden waves, and the lights shimmer like raindrops. I offer a warm welcome to everyone at the launch of the book A Fraction of Eternity (Ułamek wieczności), published by the Polish publishing house Mamiko.

I talk about how Galway in Ireland—with its ocean, the River Corrib, and rain—inspires my writing. There are narrow streets, strange corners, the cries of seagulls, and busker’s songs drifting through the streets—all part of our daily lives here. I speak of flamenco, a dance that awakens my feminine power. And I recall my very first poem, written back in elementary school. I don’t remember its title, nor do I remember the words, but I do remember the emotions I poured into it—and how the darkness transformed into light.

When I was a little girl, I used to dance in a field of my grandmother’s pink daisies, feeling within myself that same strength I now find in flamenco. Because, even then, I wanted to be a poet.

The author’s reading and poetry are enriched by the songs of Sinéad Ann—a German-Irish singer and songwriter whose music is also brimming with various emotions. Unexpectedly, I discover that we share a connection through Elliott Smith, a brilliant American musician. Today, he seems to arrive from the beyond to join our gathering, his fingertips brushing against the clouds in the poem as if they were the keys of a piano. Sinéad performs his song, “Between the Bars”.

People from various countries sit at the tables—for languages ​​and different cultures bring a dynamic energy to my poetry.

I present a poem in Portuguese for my friend Angela, who is from Brazil. Then, two poems in Polish. Next comes Premenopausa Facts/Premenopausa F***—a piece in which I’ve included lines in the Yoruba language, taught to me by a friend from Nigeria. She stands up, smiling, and bows to everyone.

Listening to poetry in other languages—even when you don’t understand the words—sounds like a beautiful melody,” Sinéad remarks.

The guests are genuinely absorbed and happy. The printed poems prove useful, as they allow people to revisit the verses; some even take them home as keepsakes. A friend from China uses an app on her phone to translate one of the poems into Chinese. The coffee machine hums, guests move in from the garden, and waitresses serve tea. Life in the Secret Garden follows its own rhythm—even during this gathering, unfolding naturally, without any unnecessary constraints.

As a poet, I feel a sense of duty. I do not close my eyes to what is happening in our local and global world. I take a poem about the war in Ukraine out into the streets. I read about the daily realities in Palestine—about how, despite war and grave danger, someone still waters the palm trees in front of their apartment block every single day. Sinéad sings in Irish, interspersing her songs with brief stories about how they came to be.

Fragments of eternity vibrate in the air, here and now. The guests are radiant and relaxed, savoring the magic of the afternoon. A little girl dances to Sinéad’s song; on her table rises a pink lily.

I sign books, deeply moved. The fairy lights of the “Secret Garden” reflect off a colorful table. I leave a copy of my book on the shelf for the owners, Ieva and Mara, and for all who visit. “See you soon for coffee!” the guests say as they leave. We order some delicious curry to take away. And as I drift off to sleep at home, my thoughts turn to a ginger cat.

Thank you all so much for the get-together! Thanks to Sinéad Ann for the wonderful songs, to Maciek Doczyk for translating the poem into Spanish, and to Agnieszka Korobczak-Sierra for the translation into Portuguese. Thanks to my friends at Jungle Café for the mug featuring an Indian, and to Svitlana Soloviova for hosting the event. Also, Hugh Murphy filmed the occasion—you can watch the video via the link below.

Photos by Donncha Smith, Maciek Doczyk, Sinéad Ann.

Małgorzata Kozłowska-Doczyk “Fraction of Eternity” (“Ułamek wieczności”).