At home

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“Nothing is absolute. Everything changes, everything moves, everything revolves, everything flies and goes away.”

(Frida Kahlo)


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“Our name will be forgotten
In time
No one will remember our work
Our life will pass like the traces of a cloud
And be scattered like
Mist that is chased by the
Rays of the sun
For our time is the passing of a shadow
And our lives will run like
Sparks through the stubble.

I place a delphinium, Blue, upon your grave.”

(Derek Jarman, Excerpt from Blue )

The smell of salt


“a splinter of my imagination
sometimes flares up from a word
and sometimes from the smell of salt
and I feel under me
the ship shift from foot to foot
and the ocean is immeasurable
without any shore
secure in a shell of wood
I am wonderfully free”…

(Halina Poswiatowska, a splinter of my imagination)

All that I see

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“All around is stone
All is soft inside
All that I know
Lies within emotion
Words remain unspoken
Lead me through the dark
All that I see
Came to me in colours
Lasted for a moment
Leads me through the dark
All that I know
All I know
All, all
I need it all”…

(Aurora Aksnes, All Is Soft Inside)

“this night – for you”

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“this night – for you
and in the fuzzy cut-open
melon of night
its insides sweet and juicy
if my body does not shine
the star–paved road in vain
meanders across the irrelevant sky
and in vain the curved moon
looks deep into the earth
if my mouth does not mean light
then you will live all your days
with closed eyes”

(Halina Poswiatowska)

The door and the beautiful room

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“Sometimes I have the feeling that we’re in one room with two opposite doors and each of us holds the handle of one door, one of us flicks an eyelash and the other is already behind his door, and now the first one has but to utter a word ad immediately the second one has closed his door behind him and can no longer be seen. He’s sure to open the door again for it’s a room which perhaps one cannot leave. If only the first one were not precisely like the second, if he were calm, if he would only pretend not to look at the other, if he slowly set the room in order as though it were a room like any other; but instead he does exactly the same as the other at his door, sometimes even both are behind the doors and the beautiful room is empty.”

(Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena)

The absent

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“share with me
the daily bread of my loneliness
fill with your presence
the absent walls
the nonexistent window
be a door
above all a door
which can be thrown
wide open”

(Halina Poswiatowska, share with me)