This post is also available in: polski (Polish)

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.

Edge

Officially the heart is oblong, muscular and filled with longing

– Miroslav Holub

Although it was noon she lit a fire

to keep the cold at bay.

Flames kindled

and beegan to warm the room.

From the window she watched

the storm unfold its rope of cloud.

She could hear its greed and hunger,

and edgy tempo seethe.

If only, she though, if only

I had that kind of fever.

After reading this poem, I realized a simple, perhaps the obvious thing for all of you – longing is the natural piece of the heart, just like blood. Life is a process, and searching for happiness only through productivity, things which we can count, even the obligation to feel fulfilled can be harmful for us. Because life doesn’t need a mark and you can’t put it into a frame. Life is diverse and will not satisfy all our longings. The longings are natural and it creates our lives.

So I miss and will always miss what I do not have

In Galway I miss Wrocław, the morning frost, the snow on the meadow and Mountain House called Chatka Górzystów. In Wrocław I miss the vastness of the ocean, the silence of Connemara. I miss being with my kids in the garden on a hot summer day. For being who I am and who I will never be. My longing beats with my heart. It counts the tears of rain, stares at the damp walls, tears the meaning into a million pieces, and then sticks them together with honey. Writing is honey to me.

Do you feel the same or maybe different? What do you miss?