Could it be that someone else? – Arkadiusz Szaraniec 23.07.2018 sparrow hawk14
I usually don’t read the books so brilliantly, from beginning to end, but first “bow”, cup! Usually it missed somewhere, where it opens, and then cup! If it tastes good here and there, sometimes one sentence or paragraph, I combine them together, usually irregularly. And then I repeat, from the cover to the last page.
I am now peculiar with the collection of interviews “Czyżyk na drogi” (Czyżyk for the road). A great title (although there is not much about birds inside), so pertinent to the cycle with the motif of a journey in the background and overtones, also the deepest ones. Texts are as rare as they are suitable for pecking randomly, tasting particular sentences, then the whole. All interlocutors are searching for, travelling, striving, “wearing” them They are also able to see a narrow path that goes side by side from the beaten track and, most importantly, to go there. They talk about nature (this is the subtitle), but – this is the only common denominator – none of them is a professional naturalist with a diploma from a renowned university, although they are constantly dealing with nature, landscape, forest, fields, meadows, groves, streams, what grows, flows, and frustrates. They are passionate about what you feel right away, after your first pecking. And after each of them. Only such a person can say that he “saw a pond with a fiery white swan” and call the meadow “overgrown”.
Cup! “There are no two identical trees. Well, surely! But all important truths are simple and obvious, but only when someone tells or writes them down (or reminds…) in the least number of words, and in the right moment. Cup! What did Odysseus say? “I have never seen before a horizon that would not call me. Cup! I have to go and see this magical Tannock. What is it and where is it? And find out for yourselves. Cup! “The sparrow is not a grey, but a colourful beautiful bird. Well, they bought me right away, I was pecking further, but in installments, though systematically, including the unpredictable but precise and logical rhythm, which was surprising for the observer, like a sparrow hawk on the city pavement or a boar on the branches of a birch tree or alder cones.
These peculiarities are saturating, some of them clog up and feed for as long as a good poem (yes, “Czyżyk” is a poetic volume, although it is written as if it were a prose), in general it is worth tasting like Brillat Savarin’s monsoieur, and putting the next poem aside for the dessert, for the shoe cushion, or at least for an early breakfast with first coffee and then to walk the whole day with a strong desire and even stronger decision to see the Belarusian spruce, which is 52 meters high, or with such a stupid question “what were these trees before they became colossuses” or a picture of a shattered violin. Yes, “Czyżyk” is also tormenting. The idyll of tuning into the landscape often splashes, the truth is harsh, offends eyes, ears, circle in the heart. Idyllics and bouquets are good for dried literary historians, not for people on the road. But there is a cure for this – o, thanks to you, Nature, that there are still birds in the world who, as they sing it for the whole buttock, as many pairs in their breasts as they have power in their hearts the size of a pea grain. Pierced particles (because the smallest birds sing the most beautifully) shake with their breath and sound like chaffinch, which Samuel Beckett himself considered to be the maximum manifestation of such an unreasonable, senseless, not motivated, but true and pure joy of life. How did master Goethe put it? “Take a moment, you are beautiful a moment”.
But at one point I came back to where? And to start with. On cover. It is very furious. Two deer in motion one above the other, caught during a quarrel, probably short, because the birds are usually quiet and compatible, even kept in captivity with other species. Unfortunately, because the bird breeders always “loved” the boyfriends for this reason, they grabbed them and kept them in tiny cages, and they quickly adapted to the captivity and sang beautifully. Canary farmers also “like” boozes – their cross-breeds with other canaries are smaller, and although more modestly coloured, they sing beautifully. Not as spectacular as the famous medal masters from Harz, because half and quarter-worsows do not appear, but they constantly call, hum and sing “under the beak”, sometimes louder, sometimes quieter, as if by chance, in spite of will, on every occasion and without it – this is how the genes of wild ancestors come to life in them. That is how it is. He had sympathy, he is tiny, so everyone uses not a scientific name but a diminutive name – someone’s boyfriend. Isn’t it beautiful and unique? Could it be that Purgatory has a secret and is able to enjoy life in all circumstances? Mr. Beckett, you had to go for a walk, not only to the park.
“I studied” boils in cages and in the wild. During the winter feeding, on the tenth floor of a concrete skyscraper, but near the Kampinos Forest, they appeared at my feeder. They were coming down the road with grazed and quarrelsome, and the possessive and ardent callers, former brother with prayers and goddesses for the lord, did not give the opportunity to duel with a sparrow.