It was such a fine idea—while it lasted—
that even though it barely outlived the remex
dipped in oak gall ink to etch the signatures,
we go on perpetuating it ad infinitum—
like turkeys drawn by ‘something borrowed,
something blue’.
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I recently came across two rather peculiar terms: mythic history and fictive history. Although I’m not a historian myself, if I were, I’d feel somewhat uncomfortable, to say the least. After all, the word history comes from the Ancient Greek term ἵστωρ (histōr), meaning ‘learnt, wise man’—not from φήμη (phḗmē), that is, ‘prophetic voice, oracle, rumour’. What’s next—deterministic poetry?
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
My little shabby B-and-B
only ever had one guest: me,
and despite the everlasting muss,
it wasn’t all that inconvenient—
at least I got used to the ins
and outs of its constitution.
Now imagine having a lodger
for a full nine months—
is that what they call
shared management?
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
What was the last thing you remember
before you died? I was signing my book,
but I can’t recall if it was as MacCallus
or Modzelewski. It doesn’t matter—
they’re both equally ridiculous—
just like signing a book
I never published.
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When it comes to English actors, two names always come to mind: Hugh Grant and Colin Firth—mainly because of their voices. The former caught my attention back in the nineties—Four Weddings and a Funeral, of course—with his light, slightly soft voice, often carrying a hesitant rhythm. That West London accent, touched with an informal edge, became an instant embodiment of Englishness. Over the years, though, that flavour has lost its charm; now it actually annoys me to a degree.
The latter is another story entirely. For a long time I somehow managed to miss Firth and can’t recall him at all until I watched his Oscar-nominated role of a grieving gay man in the romantic drama A Single Man. What a delight. That controlled, calm and authoritative tone that lends gravitas and elegance while conveying the underlying despair and tragedy of loss—no wonder his accent is often seen as the epitome of refined British upper-class speech. But what struck me the most is that I find Firth’s voice magnetic regardless of whether I watch Mothering Sunday or Wings of Fame. That probably says more about me than either of these two actors.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
Some words sit better with a blackboard,
like a line delivered offhand by an old stager,
even if tinged with a hint of limestone scent
and prolonged storage, but you could have tried
slightly more sophisticated writing implements
for the sudden ‘I’m leaving’.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
Spending half the night in a reclining garden chair in the living room isn’t much, but I doubt you could call it sleep deprivation. I did, however, notice an unusual state of euphoria that might suggest my brain is starting to release extra dopamine to compensate for the fatigue, which makes me feel strangely energetic—it’s not even noon yet, and I’ve already written four poems—which is often followed by a crash. I’m so not looking forward to that. The visit was fun, though.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
A French and an American student
meet on a train to Vienna and fall in love
sounds oddly familiar, like a pitch
for a romcom scribbled on a napkin
in one of Tinseltown’s shabby bars
that somehow turned into an epic trilogy,
and your only regret is that you were
neither the scribbler nor the lover,
but at least you’re holding on to something
real.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
Whether it’s a fountain
in the land of the Macrobians,
the Pool of Bethesda, mind uploading
or an occasional botox injection,
it’s hard to shake the feeling
that the eternal youth of our dreams
borders somewhat on everlasting
infancy.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
hidden pilcrow 