A portrait of the Self-Claimed Poet. The emerging beauty.

Dear Friends.

I did promise to continue the story of the Self-Claimed Poet, the story of my own inspiration for the poetical trials, of a path which I followed in the search for my own self, which eventually led me to... And here I am though.

I called this second chapter of the story "The emerging beauty". It regards to this part of the process of forming conscieusness of the self-claimed poet, in which he begins to develope certain aesthetical skills. I guess every man owns this kind of sensibility, some fully discovered, some waiting for a revival... Just recall the primitive paintings from cages in southern France, or the Venus from Milo sculpture... The man is an artist, you just need to give him a chance...
Thus the self-claimed poet improves his techniques through the process of purgation and, at the same time, his sensibility is improving... Still he writes many pieces, to cover and archive his impressions about the being, but among them some are more interesting, then the others...

This first piece that I wanted to recall today, tells about a misterious adventure with the being, expierienced by a young man, which is something that I don't ever go through today with all my schedules, duties and faked promptness... But still recalling this expierience pervades me with a sense of something more than just "life sucks"... Nothing happens twice, Guys...
And take notice, from the technical point of view, at the changes in the tempo of this little piece.

* * * (03-03-1999)

the city runs
i run faster then the city
i dive into the flood of sidewalks
i spread involuntary pidgeons
i curse the red light
and invoke the God of double-deckers

but the bus is not coming
it disinforms with voices
of the risk of fancy
disarranges

the world swells and bursts at seams
and time blows up the narrow cage
point B zooms out from point A
and dissapears far beyond
horizon of my daily schedule

and again
i observe well known places in search
of the unknown
(i mix with it descretely)
and apparently by accident
i come across people admitted defunct

Trans. Rafał Gadomski, 28-10-2006

This second piece talks about the rising sensitivity for beauty of the self-claimed poet... The beauty, the national culture which he begins to aknowledge, through reading, listening... Just enough for a sensitive student...

* * * (11-06-1998)

between Chopin and Szymborska
i light
the first cigarette of tomorrow
jamed into a backlash
and wraped
i copulate with a fresh piece of paper
redolent
teared into half-tones
i’m sinking
rarefied
i begin and i end
smoky i adore
half a second away

Trans. Rafał Gadomski, 27-10-2006

Copulating with a piece of paper... I guess it is the quintestence of all this adventure of the self-claimed poet... :)

And the last example for today. There is something else about the Self-Claimed Poet, which I still didn't mention which, of course, is very important... The writing is rarely enough for him... The fire which burns within him is just to big... Writing isn't the only bull that he takes by the horns... He tries to draw, paint, but most importantly, he is fascinating with the music... He studies music, and he spents hours practicing on his favourite instrument... And he listens...

There comes this piece, entitled (!!!) "MILES"... Don't have to explain this title, cause the piece talks for itself... I don't know how will this translation, but I still consider this one of the most beautiful pieces I have ever written during that period...

„MILES” (27-08-1997)

the trumpet
penetrates with a dream
into unscent
passageways
and it propagates silkily
a cold metal
but it burns
and it gilds pearly
like a drop of honey
on a spoon of crockery
it’s that motive
from air foundry the bull
from the spanish circus
served on tray
like spinnaker
steals air from the breath
and it wants
that the sound does never die
and the day it never comes

Trans. Rafał Gadomski, 27-10-2006

The beauty which begins to emerge from within those pieces of paper which the self-claimed poet encovers with his writing, is transforming the world around him into a better, and more beautiful place to live... But here is when the problems begins. Well guys, don't be to hypocritique, the world is not the perfect place to live... And here starts the challenge which I want to tell you about next week... The challenge of a young man, conscious and sensitive, in search of love and his own space within the corrupted society... And this is the one which does not sieze until today...

See you next Saturday friends,
RG

For coninuation see:

"On the road to...". The beginning.