Wieczór
10 sierpnia 2015
Pewne mało znaczące
miasto na skraju Europy
Zza wiatru wystaje dźwięk dzwonu
Paciorki w palcach
Rozżarzone planety
Szybujące przez ciemną przestrzeń
Przesuwam pomiędzy kciukiem a palcem wskazującym
Zadeptane głowy tysięcy węży
Za nami
Nasza Najjaśniejsza Królowo
Tysiące dusz wbija się
w prajaśń Empireum
niczym krople deszczu
w tarczę oceanu
poniedziałek, 10 sierpnia 2015
poniedziałek, 3 sierpnia 2015
nauka
ty mnie dante
mistrz ukochany
złote jabłko podajesz
ale jest tak twarde
że łamię sobie na nim
serce
a z drugiej strony
jest tak słodkie
że roztapia duszę
w słodyczy
a tak jak pójdę
do ciotki na herbatę
to ona jest
mistyczką nauczycielką
ale jej nowina
znacznie prostsza w zrozumieniu
i mi mówi
że jej mąż
już świętej pamięci nieboszczyk
anioł za życia
mówił jej że
jak on zamknie oczy
to wy je otworzycie
mistrz ukochany
złote jabłko podajesz
ale jest tak twarde
że łamię sobie na nim
serce
a z drugiej strony
jest tak słodkie
że roztapia duszę
w słodyczy
a tak jak pójdę
do ciotki na herbatę
to ona jest
mistyczką nauczycielką
ale jej nowina
znacznie prostsza w zrozumieniu
i mi mówi
że jej mąż
już świętej pamięci nieboszczyk
anioł za życia
mówił jej że
jak on zamknie oczy
to wy je otworzycie
środa, 29 lipca 2015
w nekropolis
istnieje taki rodzaj wiedzy
której znajomość
zasłania
niebo
twarzami rzeźb
wykutymi z
wyobrażeń umysłu
istnieje też taki rodzaj
wiedzy
której znajomość
pozwala rozwalić
otaczające cię rzeźby
na prochach rzeźb
wyrastają owocowe
drzewa
dzisiaj
podlewałem kwiaty
w podmiejskiej nekropolii
na przekór łzom
wyrosło słońce
i spytało
po co pisać
skoro trwasz
w
żywej wodzie
poezji
a w ręku
miecz
wykuty z płatków
róż
której znajomość
zasłania
niebo
twarzami rzeźb
wykutymi z
wyobrażeń umysłu
istnieje też taki rodzaj
wiedzy
której znajomość
pozwala rozwalić
otaczające cię rzeźby
na prochach rzeźb
wyrastają owocowe
drzewa
dzisiaj
podlewałem kwiaty
w podmiejskiej nekropolii
na przekór łzom
wyrosło słońce
i spytało
po co pisać
skoro trwasz
w
żywej wodzie
poezji
a w ręku
miecz
wykuty z płatków
róż
poniedziałek, 22 czerwca 2015
To the Lighthouse
Similarly to “Mrs. Dalloway”, the protagonist of the book is a middle-aged woman and her familial relationships living in the time of the Great War. Virginia Woolf once again returned to the subject of aging, making the main protagonist of the novel a middle class middle-aged woman, to an extent paralleling the most important poem of the modernist era - “The Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”, a piece that exploits similar themes, such as becoming old, failure or references to Shakespeare. The plot of “To the Lighthouse” is formed of the thoughts of main protagonists: Mrs Ramsay, her children and husband and her friends, like Lily Briscoe, who is the painter of the picture of Mrs Ramsay, employing stream of consciousness as the technique of depicting the reality. The family was “not rich, and it was a wonder how they managed to contrive it all. Eight children!” (271) The style of the narration, however, seems to be, so to say, more organized, as the story is divided into three parts with sub-chapters and the thoughts of the heroes are probably less difficult to follow. Both books express the states of a consciousness - “Mrs. Dalloway” in a state of excitement, and “To the Lighthouse”, in a state of tranquility that provides a reader with a mood allowing one to ponder on the nature of art. Worth noticing is also the fact that “Mrs. Dalloway” concentrates on the life of citizens of London, while “To the Lighthouse” is set in a remote village.
The wish of going to the Lighthouse serves as the triggering point of the storyline. The Lighthouse is a perfect metaphor of a dream or one's longings that in this case becomes even something more – a symbol of achieving, or not, fulfillment. The book thus vividly explores the theme of the struggle of the sexes, as we have Mr Ramsay who does not allow his children and wife to reach the Lighthouse. At one point the narrator finally asserts that “the folly of women's minds enraged him”. (277) There is also Mr Tansley saying all the way through the story that women are not able to write nor paint. All these facts enable the reader to take a glance on the difficulties and restraints that were put on women of the early 20th century. It suggests that they were oppressed by the masculine power and had to fight for the rights to fulfill their dreams, not only about being an angel in the house but their dreams of creating art, for instance. What is more, Mr Tansley being a pretender to a university post renounces the possibility that women could be artists exposing the fact that women were restrained in every direction. The strains of being a mother are unbearable: “Never did anybody look so sad. Bitter and black, halfway down, in the darkness, in the shaft which ran from the sunlight to the depths, perhaps a tear formed; a tear fell; the waters swayed this way and that, received it, and were at rest. Never did anybody look so sad.” (275) And that melancholy was caused only by the mere fact that a stocking was too short for James, on e of the sons of Mrs Ramsay. Also, dreams of creating art, getting a university degree, having peaceful family life, in short dreams of the adult life are juxtaposed with simplicity of children' dreams whose only wish is to get to the Lighthouse or wander across the fields.
Virignia Woolf as usually offers the reader some musings on the evanescent nature of life. Most of the voices in “To the Lighthouse” ponder on withering yet the most fascinating quote should be one of Mr Ramsay's, whose musing go as follows: “And his fame lasts how long? It is permissible even for a dying hero to think before he dies how men will speak of him hereafter. His fame lasts perhaps two thousand years. And what are two thousand years? (asked Mr Ramsay ironically, staring at the hedge). What, indeed, if you look from a mountain-top down the long wastes of the ages? The very stone one kicks with one's boots will outlast Shakespeare. His own little light would shine, not very brightly, for a year or two, and would then be merged in some bigger light, and that in a bigger still. (He looked into the darkness, into the intricacy of the twigs.)” (279) This long quote renders the brooding poetic mysticism of Mr Ramsay, perfectly showing the peculiar style of Woolf. This fragment could be said of exploiting T.S. Eliot's concept of objective correlative. Plot in its traditional sense has been reduced to minimum, yielding the emotional and mental sphere with primacy and the objects that the hero looks at correlate with his own thoughts. Thanks to that technique the output resembles more a long prose poem or even a philosophical treatise than a novel, also. And the main axiom of this treatise is the fact that all withers and decays, Mrs Ramsay and two of her children would die, the characters of the novel frequently mention that they shall perish alone... Even art, in the eyes of the the ancient poets capable of delivering man from oblivion, for a 20th century man does not possess this power of saving one from being forgotten somewhere in the wasteland of ages. Yet the paintress of the novel does not give up from her task as she is led by the vision of painting the portrait of Mrs Ramsay. And this is the way to self-fulfillment, to the Lighthouse, to the source of light, after all, trodden by an artist.
It has just been admitted that art should not be considered as a means of deliverance from oblivion. The same man who asserted that would later continue his rather pessimistic outlook: “If Shakespeare had never existed, he asked, would the world have differed much from what it is today? Does progress of civilisation depend upon great men? Is the lot of the average human being better now than in the time of Pharaohs? Is the lot of the average human being, however, he asked himself, the criterion by which we judge the measure of civilisation? Possibly not. Possibly the greatest good requires the existence of a slave class. The liftman in the tube is an eternal necessity. The thought was distasteful to him.” (284) Mr Ramsay imposes the question of the importance of art for the general shape of civilisation and the importance of art for an individual human. In his consideration, it may be of a dubious influence for society but as Lily Briscoe proves it, art must be treated as a concept of the highest importance for the individual: “She would have snatched her picture off the easel, but she said to herself, One must. She braced herself to stand the awful trial of someone looking at the picture. One must, she said, one must.” (289) And if art changes a life of one man or woman, it definitely changes the society.
According to the novel, women are in possession of a special kind of wisdom outstanding all the treasures of intellect gathered through the ages. Lily Briscoe would say of Mrs Ramsay that: “(...) in the chambers of the mind and heart of the woman who was, physically, touching her, were stood, like the treasures in the tombs of kings, tablets bearing sacred inscriptions, which if one could spell them out would teach one everything, but they would never be offered openly, never made public.” (289) It seems that the painter is in love with Mrs Ramsay and in this respect, “To the Lighthouse” investigates a homosexual theme which was perhaps shocking to the readers in the 20th century. Nevertheless, it was Lily Briscoe who was able to witness love in the Ramsays' family and describe it so exquisitely, as only an artist could do it. According to her words, “love flooded them. They became part of that unreal but penetrating and exciting universe which is the world seen through the eyes of love. The sky stuck to them; the birds sung to them.” (287)
The second chapter of the novel “Time Passes” serves as an interjection put between chapter 1 and 3. It is a dark poetic depiction of death approaching and lurking in every crevice – brought about by war, reflected in the decaying house and the death of Mrs Ramsay. The passing of time results in the passing away of men yet time remains inflexible while frail existence of man brings sorrow and tears. The fact that Mrs Ramsay died was summarized in one short sentence and so much pain within two sentences can be experienced in literature rather rarely. Mr Ramsay tries to touch his late wife but he can only touch emptiness which is an unbelievably sad scene. We are also informed that the fearless death gradually embraces young members of family: Andrew, who died at War, and Prue, who passed away because of some illness connected with child-birth. Yet Mr Carmichael expresses words that are out of harmony with the dominant sense of gloom: “The war, people said, had revived their interest in poetry.” (342) In the time of suffering people have the tendency to look for a shelter in things that are usually out of their interest. To be more precise, we look for safety in immaterial reality: religion, philosophy, or in this case – art.
The house being overgrown with weed and cobwebs serves as a symbolic object of marking the passing of time and the ferociousness of nature. Nature grows on death, on thick layers of dead generations and it does not pay attention if it was a great marble temple or an English wattle and daub cottage. Nature covers everything with a colorful blanket of flowers and weed, veiling our houses, theaters, military buildings with a cover of forgetfulness.
Finally, the third part of “To the Lighthouse” portrays Lily Briscoe finishing her painting after years of strenuous effort and thinking that “For there are moments when one can neither think nor feel. And if one can neither think nor feel, she thought, where is one?”. (381) She would be right there, in the right place, at the end of her exasperating artistic task. She had exerted great pains in order to finish the painting and went through pases of serious doubts: “Why then she do it? She looked at the canvas, lightly scored with running lines. It would be hung in servants' bedrooms. It would be rolled up and stuff under a sofa. What was the good of doing it then, and she heard some voice saying she couldn't paint, saying she couldn't create, as if she were caught up in one of those habitual currents which after a certain time forms experience in the mind, so that one repeats words without being aware any longer who originally spoke them.” (359) Against all the difficulties, both mental and socila, she painted Mrs Ramsay and the Lighthouse in the background. The very last detail she added to the composition was a line on the sea, between Mrs Ramsay and the Lighthouse. This line is the second chapter of the story entitled “Time Passes”. It could be imagined clearly: in the foreground of the picture Mrs Dalloway, as the first chapter of “To the Lighthouse” concentrates on her being alive. Then, the sea of time with the line of Lily Briscoe, as the second chapter follows. And finally, the Lighthouse in the background – James Ramsay achieving his dream of going there and Lily Briscoe her dream of finishing the picture. Lily Briscoe puts her brush saying that she has had her vision and we could see Virginia Woolf herself finishing the novel. The painting of the picture reflects Virginia Woolf working on the novel herself which treatment makes “To the Lighthouse” even more fascinating, visionary and intricate piece of art reflecting on human relationships, the passing of time and love, the ever-present theme of the writings of Virginia Woolf.
The wish of going to the Lighthouse serves as the triggering point of the storyline. The Lighthouse is a perfect metaphor of a dream or one's longings that in this case becomes even something more – a symbol of achieving, or not, fulfillment. The book thus vividly explores the theme of the struggle of the sexes, as we have Mr Ramsay who does not allow his children and wife to reach the Lighthouse. At one point the narrator finally asserts that “the folly of women's minds enraged him”. (277) There is also Mr Tansley saying all the way through the story that women are not able to write nor paint. All these facts enable the reader to take a glance on the difficulties and restraints that were put on women of the early 20th century. It suggests that they were oppressed by the masculine power and had to fight for the rights to fulfill their dreams, not only about being an angel in the house but their dreams of creating art, for instance. What is more, Mr Tansley being a pretender to a university post renounces the possibility that women could be artists exposing the fact that women were restrained in every direction. The strains of being a mother are unbearable: “Never did anybody look so sad. Bitter and black, halfway down, in the darkness, in the shaft which ran from the sunlight to the depths, perhaps a tear formed; a tear fell; the waters swayed this way and that, received it, and were at rest. Never did anybody look so sad.” (275) And that melancholy was caused only by the mere fact that a stocking was too short for James, on e of the sons of Mrs Ramsay. Also, dreams of creating art, getting a university degree, having peaceful family life, in short dreams of the adult life are juxtaposed with simplicity of children' dreams whose only wish is to get to the Lighthouse or wander across the fields.
Virignia Woolf as usually offers the reader some musings on the evanescent nature of life. Most of the voices in “To the Lighthouse” ponder on withering yet the most fascinating quote should be one of Mr Ramsay's, whose musing go as follows: “And his fame lasts how long? It is permissible even for a dying hero to think before he dies how men will speak of him hereafter. His fame lasts perhaps two thousand years. And what are two thousand years? (asked Mr Ramsay ironically, staring at the hedge). What, indeed, if you look from a mountain-top down the long wastes of the ages? The very stone one kicks with one's boots will outlast Shakespeare. His own little light would shine, not very brightly, for a year or two, and would then be merged in some bigger light, and that in a bigger still. (He looked into the darkness, into the intricacy of the twigs.)” (279) This long quote renders the brooding poetic mysticism of Mr Ramsay, perfectly showing the peculiar style of Woolf. This fragment could be said of exploiting T.S. Eliot's concept of objective correlative. Plot in its traditional sense has been reduced to minimum, yielding the emotional and mental sphere with primacy and the objects that the hero looks at correlate with his own thoughts. Thanks to that technique the output resembles more a long prose poem or even a philosophical treatise than a novel, also. And the main axiom of this treatise is the fact that all withers and decays, Mrs Ramsay and two of her children would die, the characters of the novel frequently mention that they shall perish alone... Even art, in the eyes of the the ancient poets capable of delivering man from oblivion, for a 20th century man does not possess this power of saving one from being forgotten somewhere in the wasteland of ages. Yet the paintress of the novel does not give up from her task as she is led by the vision of painting the portrait of Mrs Ramsay. And this is the way to self-fulfillment, to the Lighthouse, to the source of light, after all, trodden by an artist.
It has just been admitted that art should not be considered as a means of deliverance from oblivion. The same man who asserted that would later continue his rather pessimistic outlook: “If Shakespeare had never existed, he asked, would the world have differed much from what it is today? Does progress of civilisation depend upon great men? Is the lot of the average human being better now than in the time of Pharaohs? Is the lot of the average human being, however, he asked himself, the criterion by which we judge the measure of civilisation? Possibly not. Possibly the greatest good requires the existence of a slave class. The liftman in the tube is an eternal necessity. The thought was distasteful to him.” (284) Mr Ramsay imposes the question of the importance of art for the general shape of civilisation and the importance of art for an individual human. In his consideration, it may be of a dubious influence for society but as Lily Briscoe proves it, art must be treated as a concept of the highest importance for the individual: “She would have snatched her picture off the easel, but she said to herself, One must. She braced herself to stand the awful trial of someone looking at the picture. One must, she said, one must.” (289) And if art changes a life of one man or woman, it definitely changes the society.
According to the novel, women are in possession of a special kind of wisdom outstanding all the treasures of intellect gathered through the ages. Lily Briscoe would say of Mrs Ramsay that: “(...) in the chambers of the mind and heart of the woman who was, physically, touching her, were stood, like the treasures in the tombs of kings, tablets bearing sacred inscriptions, which if one could spell them out would teach one everything, but they would never be offered openly, never made public.” (289) It seems that the painter is in love with Mrs Ramsay and in this respect, “To the Lighthouse” investigates a homosexual theme which was perhaps shocking to the readers in the 20th century. Nevertheless, it was Lily Briscoe who was able to witness love in the Ramsays' family and describe it so exquisitely, as only an artist could do it. According to her words, “love flooded them. They became part of that unreal but penetrating and exciting universe which is the world seen through the eyes of love. The sky stuck to them; the birds sung to them.” (287)
The second chapter of the novel “Time Passes” serves as an interjection put between chapter 1 and 3. It is a dark poetic depiction of death approaching and lurking in every crevice – brought about by war, reflected in the decaying house and the death of Mrs Ramsay. The passing of time results in the passing away of men yet time remains inflexible while frail existence of man brings sorrow and tears. The fact that Mrs Ramsay died was summarized in one short sentence and so much pain within two sentences can be experienced in literature rather rarely. Mr Ramsay tries to touch his late wife but he can only touch emptiness which is an unbelievably sad scene. We are also informed that the fearless death gradually embraces young members of family: Andrew, who died at War, and Prue, who passed away because of some illness connected with child-birth. Yet Mr Carmichael expresses words that are out of harmony with the dominant sense of gloom: “The war, people said, had revived their interest in poetry.” (342) In the time of suffering people have the tendency to look for a shelter in things that are usually out of their interest. To be more precise, we look for safety in immaterial reality: religion, philosophy, or in this case – art.
The house being overgrown with weed and cobwebs serves as a symbolic object of marking the passing of time and the ferociousness of nature. Nature grows on death, on thick layers of dead generations and it does not pay attention if it was a great marble temple or an English wattle and daub cottage. Nature covers everything with a colorful blanket of flowers and weed, veiling our houses, theaters, military buildings with a cover of forgetfulness.
Finally, the third part of “To the Lighthouse” portrays Lily Briscoe finishing her painting after years of strenuous effort and thinking that “For there are moments when one can neither think nor feel. And if one can neither think nor feel, she thought, where is one?”. (381) She would be right there, in the right place, at the end of her exasperating artistic task. She had exerted great pains in order to finish the painting and went through pases of serious doubts: “Why then she do it? She looked at the canvas, lightly scored with running lines. It would be hung in servants' bedrooms. It would be rolled up and stuff under a sofa. What was the good of doing it then, and she heard some voice saying she couldn't paint, saying she couldn't create, as if she were caught up in one of those habitual currents which after a certain time forms experience in the mind, so that one repeats words without being aware any longer who originally spoke them.” (359) Against all the difficulties, both mental and socila, she painted Mrs Ramsay and the Lighthouse in the background. The very last detail she added to the composition was a line on the sea, between Mrs Ramsay and the Lighthouse. This line is the second chapter of the story entitled “Time Passes”. It could be imagined clearly: in the foreground of the picture Mrs Dalloway, as the first chapter of “To the Lighthouse” concentrates on her being alive. Then, the sea of time with the line of Lily Briscoe, as the second chapter follows. And finally, the Lighthouse in the background – James Ramsay achieving his dream of going there and Lily Briscoe her dream of finishing the picture. Lily Briscoe puts her brush saying that she has had her vision and we could see Virginia Woolf herself finishing the novel. The painting of the picture reflects Virginia Woolf working on the novel herself which treatment makes “To the Lighthouse” even more fascinating, visionary and intricate piece of art reflecting on human relationships, the passing of time and love, the ever-present theme of the writings of Virginia Woolf.
poniedziałek, 15 czerwca 2015
Mrs. Dalloway
The plot of the novel concentrates only on one day in June, 1923, when Mrs. Clarissa Dalloway plans her evening party. All the events are actually measured by the chiming of Big Ben, striking every half an hour with a resounding voice, remembering about the flowing of time, the sense of which can be easily lost as the reader immerses into the rapid torrent of the stream of the protagonists' consciousnesses. The action of the novel is set in London but frequent reminiscences of the protagonists transport the reader back to the times of the Great War, to India or to Italy. “Boys in uniform, carrying guns, marched with their eyes ahead of them, marched, their arms stiff, and on their faces an expression like the letter of a legend written round the base of a statue praising duty, gratitude, fidelity, love of England. “ (159) The destructive impact of the War is ever-present in the story and could be well seen in the behaviour of Septimus Warren Smith as well as the general trauma that the society experienced that time: “This late age of the world's experience had bred in them all, all men and women, a well of tears. Tears and sorrows; courage and endurance; a perfectly upright social behaviour”. (133) All this, the post-war trauma, the sense of being empty inside, the dejectedness of the 20th century man leads Peter Walsh to a certain statement: “The death of the soul.” (166). The words reflect both the gradual regression of spirituality in society and individual. “Mrs. Dalloway” was written not a long time ago after the per-existentialist Kierkegaard introduced the concept of “angst”, later developed by Heidegger. Woolf seems to be inspired by the philosophical movement, granting her protagonists with that existentialist sense of loneliness. “As for the other experiences, the solitary ones, which people can go through alone, in their bedrooms, in their offices, walking the fields and the streets of London, he had them.” (182) As all people struggle with these experiences...
One of the characters of the novel, Septimus Warren Smith, might be treated as a person who reflects the authoress' personal difficulties with sustaining mental health. He experiences the world most painfully due to his bipolar disease. He has synesthetic abilities and his sensitivity allows him to meet the reality on a higher level of perception: “The word 'time' split its husk; poured its riches over him; and from his lips fell like shells, like shavings from a plane, without his making them, hard, white, imperishable words, and flew to attach themselves to their places in an ode to Time; an immortal ode to Time. He sang. Evans answered from behind the tree. The dead were in Thesally, Evans sang, among the orchids. There they waited till the War was over, and now the dead, now Evans himself-” (173) The state of Septimus after the War also reflects the feelings of veterans in general.
The novel features almost no dialogues, only internal monologues can be observed. The peculiar style of Virginia Woolf prolongs an instant into a longer measure of time, like it happens during the scene of the motor tire exploding on the streets of London. The authoress deals with the problem of rendering the reality in literature. Because how is it possible to portray the world using such limited, after all, means as literature? She answered to the question by moving towards the within as the subject matter is not the outside reality but that of the subconscious, the unknown – the workings of human mind. The omniscient narrator of the story stops the plot in order to hearken the gurgle of the protagonists thoughts: “As a cloud crosses the sun, silence falls on London; and falls on the mind. Effort ceases. Time flaps on the mast. There we stop, there we stand. Rigid, the skeleton of habit alone upholds the human frame. Where there is nothing, Peter Walsh said to himself; feeling hollowed out, utterly empty within. Clarissa refused me, he thought. He stood there thinking, Clarissa refused me.” (158) . Woolf to an extent zooms the world, submerging into the complexities of human psyche, composing a mosaic of the subconsciousness of the mass, taking into consideration the sense of loneliness, isolation, lack of love, failure, mental diseases. Of course, not only does she focus on the dark side of life because happiness and the sombre beauty of life is portrayed as frequently as the aforementioned: “To love makes one solitary”, as Lucrezia Warren Smith summarizes. The characters' musings about love can be encountered very often in the novel: “ 'In love!' she said. That he at his age should be sucked under his little bow-tie by that monster! And there's no flesh on his neck; his hands are red; and he's six months older than I am! Her eye flashed back to her; but in her heart she felt, all the same; he is in love. He has that, she felt; he is in love”. (155) In addition, the narrator dips below the surface of the world, where nothing is transparent and even the voice of the narrator can be lost, if the novel is not followed fastidiously.
In “Mrs. Dalloway” the mundane object, seemingly unworthily of paying great attention to them, are turned into exquisite object of artistic value, like the plane swirling through London's skies: “It has gone; it was behind the clouds. There was no sound. The clouds to which the letters E, G, or L had attached themselves moved freely, as if destined to cross from West to East on a mission of the greatest importance which would never be revealed, and yet certainly so it was – a mission of the greatest importance.” (140) Further we read that: “Away and away the aeroplane shot, till it was nothing but a bright spark; an aspiration; a symbol (so it seemed to Mr Bentley, vigorously rolling his strip of turf at Greenwich) of man's soul; of his determination, thought Mr Bentley, sweeping round the cedar tree, to get outside his body, beyond his house, by means of thought, Einstein, speculation, mathematics, the Mendelian theory – away the aeroplane shot.” (144) That unseen style of slipping from the voice of the narrator into the thoughts of the protagonists had one more thing to offer the reader: it tries to show the simultaneousness of the occurrences happening in the world. It was only with the invention of the cinema that man has become able to render that unique feature of reality. Virginia Woolf tried to deal with the question in literature, which is a space quite limited compared to cinema, which can unify the visual and the sonic. But the cinema cannot introduce to the complexities of the mind in that way as literature can.
The extraordinary moments of life are yet one more issue of the novel bringing to the mind the concept of Joycean epiphany: “She felt only how Sally was being mauled already, maltreated; she felt his hostility; his jealousy; his determination to break into their companionship. All this she saw as one sees a landscape in a flash of lightning – and Sally (never had she admired her so much!) gallantly taking her way unvanquished.” (150) Woolf displays the richness of an instant, stuffing it with thoughts flowing like a mountain brook. It is a brook, though, contaminated with the spoils of war and modern mechanized society. The novel also shows how much our thoughts and behaviours and choices are shaped by the indomitable past. With “Mrs. Dalloway”, a work of fiction became something more than merely a plot or a storyline – it has gained another level of complexity because the book portrays the labours of the human consciousness. It is thus a handbook of applied psychoanalysis, depicting the state of loneliness of man: “Are we not all prisoners? She had read a wonderful play about a man who scratched on the wall. Despairing of human relationships (people were so difficult), she often went into her garden and got from her flowers a peace which men and women never gave her.” (249) This might be a way out of the overwhelming sense of solitude and chaos. This and the company of other human being, when simple joy arrives: “...he held her hand. Happiness is this, is this, he thought.” (203)
środa, 10 czerwca 2015
i am silly
Z
jej oczu wypływa muzyka
błekitną
wstęgą górskiego strumienia
dłonie
ma jak płatki róż
układa
je na kształt płomienia
na
dnie morza lśni srebrny nóż
obok
białego kamienia
spotkałem ją tylko raz
u kresu nocy
gdy słońce świtało
zniknęła
*
kwiaty nadmorskie
rozwarte oczy świętego
spadają na asfalt deptane przez ludzi
liście drzewa oliwnego
oto zwykła dusza jest gwoździem
wbijanym w dłonie Chrystusa
*
morze jońskie morze
mówisz do mnie dialektem nieskalanym
klękam przed tobą
zamieniony w ziarnko piasku
morze jońskie morze
obmywasz moje rany
dajesz synom ludzkim
wino tłoczone z blasku
gwiazdozbiorów
lecz oni wolą wodę
wypływającą
ze skały syjonu
*
miłość jest człowiekiem
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