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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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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A few days before Christmas Eve, the rain drips into the morning coffee. Graphite sky instead of the ceiling in the kitchen.
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There is a cobalt sky behind the window, and a well-known house with a red door. Colourful lights hung on a curtain rod shine with peace. Its glow is reflected in the chocolate cup saucer.
I take out a small table and blue chopping board on it. Next to it, on the sofa, there are old magazines, extraordinary papers, scraps, and a pencil case with liners, scissors, and glue.
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Oh, let me get wet and cold at last. I want to do something useful for the earth today
– I thought, after a month of lockdown.
As was raining the volunteer’s clean up at Claddagh beach in Galway have been cancelled. But around midday the rain stopped, so Aga, Mary, and I took litter keepers, gloves and bags and we went to the shore of Atlantic.
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Think you are escaping and run into yourself. Longest way round is the shortest way home.
James Joyce
My town has eyes as deep as the Atlantic. When the sun sometimes blinks, the eyes of the town turn into chestnut doggies, running and enjoying the streets without rain.
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Many people like to eat porridge for breakfast, and I do it too. Oatmeal was reportedly popular as early as the Bronze Age. But do you have your own story with porridge? Mine is very simple and lives in my heart.
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Outside the window is a November grey, cars move along the wet street, but their noise reminds me of the sound of the sea. The flame of a cinnamon candle lights up my kitchen, where I write letters to residents of nursing homes.
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The second wave of the epidemic came in autumn. Atlantic in Galway has been pouring from the sky for several days and the roar of the wind wakes up me at night. But the cry of revolution from Poland is louder than the stormy sea and it echoes in my heart.
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I cannot imagine my life without a bike. Ever since I can remember, the bicycle has always motivated me to the adventure. Even if I was riding to the store on the same street.
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