I longed for Tokio, even on snowing days, But look, a freezing, ragged beggar is leaning there on a wall in the backstreets what dream this man?
– a fragment of the poem by Hagiwara Sakutarō “A blue cat”.
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I longed for Tokio, even on snowing days, But look, a freezing, ragged beggar is leaning there on a wall in the backstreets what dream this man?
– a fragment of the poem by Hagiwara Sakutarō “A blue cat”.
Continue readingMy friend Lilka Poncyliusz-Guranowska recently sent me her latest book „Twój Najlepszy Poradnik” (“Your Best Guide”), which she wrote for teenagers. Today I would like to present it to you because I am sure that if I had such a guide as a teen, I would know how to solve some of the difficult situations that I was experiencing at that time.
Continue readingHeavy rain is falling from the sky in Irish Galway. I come back on the bike from my work and found the package waiting for me behind the blue door. I already know what it is. Everything goes very fast from Aleksandrów Kujawski. Because these letters are driven by the passion of the founder of the Literary Festival in Łazieniec Biała Lokomotywa (White Locomotive) and my friend, Daria Danuta Lisiecka. For the 20th anniversary of the Polish National Poets Meetings, Daria has prepared a beautiful album.
Continue readingAt magical Kenneys Bookshop & Art Gallery, I had no idea I was walking over to a bookshelf with poetry. I realized it when I pulled a thin publication from the shelf with the interesting title The Elephant in the Corner. The poems it contained reminded me of the taste of every morning coffee I drunk on a graphite sofa or in completely unfamiliar chairs. Aoife Mannix – an Irish poet born in Sweden knows the smell of rented furniture and she does not afraid to present emotions that I am sometimes scared to admit, although they live with me.
Continue readingA few years ago, I got an idea for a book about middle-aged women who consistently work with passion. In Ireland’s humid and changeable climate, I met many self-satisfied women, and they made me love my graying hair. I made interviews to find out how they keep fire in their hearts and shape into action. However, when I wrote seven chapters, I locked them in a file for four years. Not because I didn’t want to continue with this idea, but simply because I didn’t organize my time to work on the book.
Continue readingThe morning coffee smells like orange trees in the Doña Elvira square in Seville, although it is mystical gray outside the window. I am sitting on the sofa as on a small tiled bench. Instead of the sounds of water in the fountain, I hear the washing machine. Notebook based on corduroy legs. I can’t turn off poetry because it is my life.
Continue readingI am reading a book that is like ordinary life, very simple and charming at the same time. Slow rhythm of stories and mindfulness calm us.
Continue readingA 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.
Continue readingOne afternoon, Destined / Namienionô – a bilingual poetry book by Małgorzata Wątor fell through the letter slot in the blue door of my apartment in Galway, Ireland. A first poem called to me in the corridor yet.
Continue readingFor women who doubt the worth and power of their story
detication from the book
Today, I can present you with prose that is like a multidimensional journey. “The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart “ – is Holly Ringland’s debut novel. 415 pages that I read almost in one breath, over exactly two afternoons.
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