Tuesday, July 10, 2018



Insomnia Before The Dawn

an empty garden
some black nettle
of  persistent interrogation marks

taken out of the package
I am sentenced to be
by myself
with myself

burning threads of the murk are tearing

the dawn
like a charwoman
is sweeping
the cobweb of the night

A Lesson

it’s so few words
that I wring out of myself
so much as some chalk dust
out of an eraser
after the blackboard
having been wiped clean

something still remains
is stuck like a bone in the throat
will not go out

on the school blackboard
an old beak is writing
an unintelligible text:
my life

it’s less and less time
until  the lesson end ring
less and less words

less and less chalk
held in fingers


the night is holding her breath
a pause in the song of world

colours are not enlivened yet
in the eyes of angels
dark wisdom of
setting apart
grape cluster squashing

black white and grey pathways
branch out  across
meadows barrens and swamps

the wind is asleep
in branches of an almond tree
and so is the fire
in a thornbush

from serpent’s teeth sown here
a human
and a  ruby star
are sprouting

For M.

an online cup of  coffee
an online café table
an online bistro at Montmartre

a Russian was playing
the seven-string guitar
the bistro was growing woods
ivy grapevine

who am I
without that place
nothing but a sack
of words
thrown by a road

and therefore
I have been still coming there

I have been sitting
at the empty table
in the online bistro where
a Russian with a guitar
is already absent

the silence
is in the colour
of your dress

While Stretched

while stretched between the moon nodes
I wake up in the night not able to sleep

the mill of the world is running in silence

that second I is treading on the walk
is carrying cellars left waste
broken chairs twist-image mirrors
frames to non-existing paintings
planks of boats from unrealized voyages

he is marching through growing drops
he is opening the door of his house
hanging his raincoat  and his soaked wings so heavy
in the hall

standing at a window watching the rain
through hunched drenched rainy window panels

at a bunch of flowers  dropped in a plash
under an old gutter full of rubbish
embraced by
a young  lilac bush

In My Dream

in my dream
your teats have been cast
in lunar silver

archs of hips
a call of the night
in the smell of wild mandrakes

black  horses are galloping
into  the marches  between
the light and the shadow

We Stood Up

we rose from a table
just for a moment

the same cup of coffee
the same glass of wine
are waiting but

a broken table top
is between us
like a bottomless lake

a cobweb thread is broken
and so is the world
one edge is where you are
the other is where I am

time has been wound out of a  hunk

there is abyss between us
trembling and shaky

a hardly visible small boat
goes on it
there and back

The World In Your Hands

the world in your hands
is small
like a shell

the night is soft
like a cat
cuddled up to your feet

I am covering you
with a poem
as if it were
a warm blanket

It Was Heavily Raining

it was heavily raining as if in fear of the end

we were standing half a step
in a no-entrance gate
giving some  minor gifts to each other in a hurry

as usual the words were not as should be

the truth is nothing but your necklace
matching your eyes
was essential there

I watched little green balls  round your neck
green planetary globes surrounding a star

and myself on one of them so tiny smaller than a speck
dreaming of two twin springs of green water

The People On The Walk

For  Tadeusz Różewicz

they flee from the sunshine
to lancet-cool cellars
down breakneck stairs
casting shadows of wings

the next day they go out
they bang the doors dead
they bring the odour of rotten rags
and nausea

they buy
colourful twilights
at the bazaar

they walk the streets


MIROSŁAW JAN GRUDZIEŃ: [approx. pronunciation:  Groo-dzhien] born on 7th December 1951 at Starachowice, Central Poland is a Polish poet, essayist, and short story writer. Also: a literary historian/ translator/ critic/ publicist. He studied  the Polish philology at Lublin (Maria Curie-Skłodowska University) and the English philology at Cracow (Jagiellonian University). Graduated as M.A. (Polish Philology)  in 1974. His  literary press début was a poem published in 1972 in The KAMENA literary biweekly in Lublin. After the 1981-83 martial law state: an independent penman / a freelance journalist.  He has been publishing his poems, short stories, literary translations, reviews, essays, and other press articles in  several Polish cultural, historical  and literary periodicals, and in regional literary almanacs. His young poems appeared in the two  young poets’ micro-anthologies in 1981 (published by the  U.P.L. Lublin  Branch): GDZIE JABŁONIE SŁODKOPIENNE [Where Are  The Sweet-Trunk Apple Trees], and OKO, ANIOŁ, KRZYK  [An Eye, An Angel, A Shout]. He translated works of poets of  the former U.S.S.R. Ukrainian, Russian and non-Russian nationalities such as an Udmurt  poet  Wiacheslav Ar-Sergi. Also some of the old Armenia, Persia  and Kashmiri poets. Several translations and literary history articles on: POEZIJA – Portal Poezji Bałkańskiej [Balkan Poetry Web Portal]. His 5 poems appeared in the 2017 ANTHOLOGY OF POLISH POETS. Warsaw: Pisarze.pl, 2017.  He has published 1 book collection of his poetry: BEZSENNOŚC PRZED ŚWITEM. WIERSZE. [Insomnia Before The Dawn. Poems]. Sandomierz: ARMORYKA Publishing House 2014, ISBN 979-83-7950-355-1 (awarded by the U.P.L. Rzeszów Branch with the Best Subcarpathian Début Award). A poetry book Polish-English translation:  ,,RODZINNE SZCZĘŚCIE = FAMILY HAPPINESS'' (Wybór wierszy/ Selected poems). Rzeszów: RS Druk 2016. Translated into English and prefaced: Mirosław Grudzień. ISBN 978-83-65293-08-4.

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