all the trinkets of the day
I have a plan
with unlimited calls and texts
(which is the standard nowadays),
and yet, faced with a profusion of means,
everyone’s will seems to lag behind,
as the only call I answered
over the last few months was a reminder
about my dentist appointment.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
I wept when reading Father Goriot
and The Idiot, but I was fifteen—
a fair excuse, I guess—
whereas now I simply try to believe
in my every word that I still remember,
as the days insist on living
without revealing which gullible soul is destined to pay
for accepting ‘visiting hours’—
or, as I call it, the life of a film-trailer connoisseur
who grasped a simple truth about colours:
they do not exist
(why wouldn’t I trust Keller and Lusseyran on the matter then?),
so I could spend my final day complaining
that, in recycling culture, even planting cabbages
has become yet another lifestyle hashtag
splashed on a t-shirt.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
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
