all the trinkets of the day
Have you ever noticed the subtle difference
between a chitchat and a small talk—indistinguishable
until you realise that late is too late
when she says, ‘I’m gonna get some sleep’—
while listening to Mercadante,
you were about to remark that there is no harm
in being curious as to what ‘Figlia,
ti scuoti’ means?
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
With Heikousen as my recent earworm, I act
the world forgetting, by the world forgot—
evanescent murk of the sullied corse taking part
in the prearranged dread of toffee apples
on All Saints’ Eve at Tesco.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
Temporarily at a loss for words, I occupy the space
somewhere between a triangular circle and a winged lion,
weary of constantly mulling over salient interrogations,
like, ‘Can you get rid of eczema in two months
when you’ve been cultivating it for over forty years?’
(Of course you can’t; you even botched your divorce,
and you’d only spent half that time with your ex).
Is that why I like peeping
at magpies?
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
There are many orbs and sceptres,
but none can rival a doppelstöckiges Schüleretui
sent by Grandma from West Germany
for her poor little Kaziu in communist Poland
that made his classmates gasp in awe.
Perhaps that is why I remain unconcerned
about the latest iWhatever.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great Chieftain o’ the Puddin-race!
— Robert Burns
What if my life is as poetic
as IgA autoantibodies against transglutaminase
that wreak havoc on my body
every time I reach for a slice of haggis
with my Sunday neeps and tatties?
I guess I’ll stick with the French
ragout.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
i. the renascence
!
,
(!),
…
ii. floruit
, ;
:
, —
—
“ !!! ”.
, [!]
.
iii. humdrum
,
,
,
.
iv. the senescence
…
.
If you step out of formal calculus
into your own bedchamber,
there are no proofs, only presumptions—
subject to circumstantial evidence—
and algorithm-induced silence of the granary,
where you savour that quaint blend
of Demotic and Katharevousa in Cavafy,
never quite ready to acknowledge
your audience.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
if she is not exactly famous for thinking
that human beings suffer from a shortage of words,
why do i have to wade through a foreword, an introduction and a prologue
before i get to the first chapter?
is that the preliminary bureaucracy
of the human condition?
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
If you were to author another life,
would you rather be John Doe
or Wulfric Shufflebotham?
Either way, neither would save you
from being sold as an enormous quantity
of quotidian reportage.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
