when i read the diary of my favourite thinker
in english, knowing the polish original,
i was a bit disappointed. on the other hand,
one of the regulars of the café novelty admitted
that his del sentimiento trágico de la vida
was actually more substantively refined
in translation. but if neither the author
nor the translator give substantial grounds
to sustain a somewhat diminished credibility
of intellectual sophistication, where does that
leave a simple crash blossom collector,
laughing hysterically to get noticed?
hidden pilcrow 