What is it that keeps me attached
to the words? I live and learn
that Nature knows no sorrow—
maybe I shouldn’t either—
and has no use of ‘assuage’.
Perhaps the well-spoken have it easier,
but how would I know? After all, longing
is a wordless song.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
I live by the river yet never walk its banks.
Not that they’d miss me particularly—
after all, I would just be another pair of soles
trampling on their peace between the tides.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
There’s nothing like a rainy morning,
after long days of sunshine,
to convince you that there’s a carrying power
somewhere out there that keeps the balance
until it pours to the point of flooding,
making you realise that it’s all just a numbers racket.
That’s where you are truly wrong,
because even a wicked scheme assumes a will
where there is none—but you won’t hear that
from a bookie.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
Of all the creatures big and small, there are two that I actually quite like—magpies and slipper animalcules. The former for the good neighbourly relations we have, the latter because of a poem—but I suspect you may not know Andrzej Bursa—that once gave me the unique opportunity to say ‘motherfucker’ out loud in class without any undesirable consequences. The thrills of youth—where have you gone?
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
I like the sun in full bloom
to have a cloud cover
with only occasional breaks,
as it is less intimidating that way—
at least on Sundays.
I probably should have gone
to the beach
like I used to,
but I spent the late morning in an armchair
by the window,
reading
and snacking on almonds instead,
and now I’m playing
with a word processor.
Why is it that I’d rather write a verse
than live it?
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
From the shaded seclusion of a park bench, I pondered the wind’s indifference to flannels running between the wickets, almost equal to the blasé of the strollers sauntering along the paths around the lawn. This nonchalance stayed with me on the way back home, when I briefly kept up with the kayaking foursomes training on the Dee while listening to the song of wrens as they tried to be heard over the traffic. I guess, even if the nature of love has been hidden from me, there is still something to fill the void.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
En réalité le satanisme a gagné. Satan s’est fait ingénu. Le mal se connaissant était moins affreux et plus près de la guérison que le mal s’ignorant. G. Sand inférieure à de Sade.
Notes sur «Les liaisons dangereuses», Charles Baudelaire
My neighbour leads a life of studious regularity
and doesn’t mind if George Sand is inferior to de Sade,
as long as he can perch on the scroll finial of the church across the street
to catch his breath between feedings of his chicks.
If only I were a magpie.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
I lost sight of my neighbours
as their nest drowned in the linden leaves—
which is nothing unexpected with spring in full swing—
so for now I have to find some other source of entertainment,
or better yet, draw the curtains
so that I don’t become the target of snoopers:
all those flies bouncing off my window.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
The frail constitution of conscience,
the assumed brevity of spirit,
and the calculated immodesty of mind,
all curtained with a green palette—
courtesy of a linden bathed in sunlight—
is a simple recipe for disaster
or a poem.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
hidden pilcrow 