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An Evening with Małgorzata Rebizant

I read a book in one sitting. Not as usually – in the case of poetry collected in a bookcase – turning all its pages, looking at black letters on a white background. I was reading it on my way from the meeting, the other day tidying up my flat, on the run, in the imagination. I had read it much earlier than I received it for myself, than it had been even created. As is often the case in extraordinary poetry – not to identify with it would be a great feat.

img_7876Everything through the evening and this particular moment – poem “Dotyk” (“Touch”), presented to the audience by the author during the evening of poetry and a sudden dissonance because we talk about someone who is, and at the very next moment who there may not be. We talk about me. About the moment I lost one of the most important people in my life, but on the contrary to what is said in the poem I didn’t give a handshake. I was angry, frustrated, and I even didn’t tame the caller with my eyes. I lost it. Not because on the other day it turned out that a person close to me died. Not because I have a difficult character and the day before I acted mighty mean, but because of this that amongst thousands times of being angry and thousands of good moments, like in “she/he loves me or she/he loves me not ” read out of the petals of daisies, fate focused on the worse emotions, unfavourable moment … and left me with this on my own, probably laughing and laughing at this bitter grotesque. The mere fact has changed everything…
I start reading the book of poetry. I browse the pages, trying to start with a poem randomly chosen but I succumb to the habit – I come back to the beginning. In the introduction the author states, “The purpose of this publication is to inspire and – dear reader – to look at yourself from a different perspective, through the prism of personal life experiences ”. In the other part of this section I also see a reference to daisies – a message is quite opposite from that one presented by me above. This is the moment when stronger emotions go away … and there are other memories.img_7958
I don’t know whether the book will be an inspiration for me. I suspect that it will simply be an acute summary of a wide range of events. But I know that for sure Małgorzata Rebizant (Rosicka), the author of “Road through” (“Drogi przez”) can be an inspiration.
In each text there is hidden someone’s story – hidden man. Similarly, in every man there are hidden loads of various texts, knowledge. Having the opportunity to participate in the evening of poetry, listening to what the author has to say, I didn’t even realize when it passed. Emotions which I re-found in myself on that day, accompany me to this day.
What have I taken from the meeting?
– Knowing that it is never too late to take up anew what you like to do. You can revive your passions, even after several years and do it with style. It is reassuring when you consider the fact that a day has only twenty-four hours, a year only three hundred sixty-five days, etc.
– When items are lost, you don’t have to look for them. Apparently, it was supposed to be this way. In the beginning peace and smile, accompanying the author telling about this subject, were totally inadequate for me to the described situation. How can you approach life in such a way?! After all, when you lose something, you should search the whole flat. If this does not help, search it second time and third one … And if it is not successful again, you should make your flat inside out, and try again. Suddenly, in my mind there is a reflection: maybe I approach life that way just because I usually lose my keys? I lose them, though I always (at least according to the assumptions) hang them in the same place. Maybe in other cases, in less important matters, it is time to take it easy?
– I realized that I love intimate music events, their climate. This meeting accumulated in me so many emotions that I missed, which I needed just as I need air.
– Subjective, but who knows, maybe also accurate conclusion: Probably many people don’t understand poetry, but a large part of the population can be simply afraid of it. Afraid of effort that you need to take to deal with yourself. Conscious reading to broaden your horizons isn’t like this one at school where there is one, correct, right interpretation whose articulation allows you get better or worse marks and forget about everything. It’s a real adventure that can take us to a really unique place, but also to the palace where we don’t necessarily like to be (e.g. space of unfinished matters). It is life in which we issue our own evaluation and not always we like these things which runs through our heart or mind.img_7940

The above text I was writing for a few days, being still unable to see what is wrong with it. I fought with myself for every verse, single word. Now I can say that thoughts after such meetings should be put on the paper after one month, not on the second day. Then surely man is able to determine what was really important, worth telling. Then emotions, feelings, are already partially catalogued. However, this was the first evening of poetry, which I had an opportunity to attend, so I forgive myself this not another approach to the matter, and I think if they usually look like that, I have already found a new addiction 😀
Thank you for the great time, which resulted in a reflection accompanying me so far. I conclude this argument to continue my “Road through”, moving on further with deficiency 😀

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