POST SCRIPTUM Eng - October 2019

ISSN 2633-1292 1/2019 fb:post scriptum 

PROSE POETRY VISUAL ARTS ARTICLES INTERVIEWS 

Ewa Ćwikła 

Marcin Kurcbuch 

Darek Marszałek 

Renata Słomkowska 

HIMALAYAS 

Joanna Nordyńska 

Małgorzata Warda 

AN INTERVIEW WITH 

MAJA BOROWICZ 

TWO DAYS OF A WOMAN’S LIFE 

Renata Cygan, Jarosław Prusiński 

MAJA BOROWICZ 

EWA ĆWIKŁA JOANNA NORDYŃSKA MARCIN KURCBUCH DAREK MARSZAŁEK 

POST SCRIPTUM 1

IN THIS ISSUE 

4 TWO DAYS OF A WOMAN’S LIFE 

Renata Cygan and Jarosław Prusiński 

An interesting story about a man becoming a woman. 

How is he movingin in this world? 

10 Małgorzata Warda - an interview with the writer. 

14 Piotr Jastrzębski - ABOUT THE FORGOTTEN ERA OF READING 

POETRY 

18 Poems sent by readers 

22 RECOMENDED: Marcin Kurcbuch 

24 Festivals, rallies, poetic meetings 

VISUAL ARTS 

28 Jarek Prusinski talkes to Maja Borowicz - an artist. a painter, 

graphic designer. FLoating between magical and emotional realism. 

38 The light of Rembrandt and Vermeer - a photographer Ewa Ćwikła 

interviewed by Agnieszka Biardzka. 

46 DAREK MARSZAŁEK - a body as a piece of art (performance) 

MISCELLANEOUS 

52 Joanna Nordyńska - HIMALAYAS 

60 A conversation with Renata Słomkowska, a rockband manager 

ENJOY ! 

the cover: MAJA BOROWICZ 

GET IN TOUCH 

We welcome and value your comments 

and opinions on the magazine. 

Feel free to email us: 

pscriptum96@gmail.com 

EDITORS: Jarosław Prusiński, Agnieszka Biardzka, Iwona Niezgoda, Renata Cygan, Robert Knapik. 

Translations: Renata Cygan, Magdalena Lesiak 

Graphics: Renata Cygan 

fb:post scriptum 

e-mail: pscriptum.mag@gmail.com

TO READERS 

Empires were rising and falling apart, and rulers got lost 

in the past. Nothing is permanent – neither honours, nor 

power, nor money, nor national borders. Memory erases. 

The only thing left by extinct civilizations is Art. Art distinguishes 

us from millions of species inhabiting our planet (although there 

is a sea fish, which to get a partner creates beautiful rosettes at 

the bottom of the sea. This fish grinds in the modes of this beautiful 

reasoning, but we can pretend that there is no such fish at all. 

And even if it exists, it is only an exception confirming the rule). 

So, let’s start. Here we go. The first issue of the English-language 

edition beautifully appears. In this issue there are materials prepared 

by Polish editors of our magazine. The next issues will host 

more and more artists from around the world - not only from Poland 

or the UK, but also from other countries and other continents. 

The magazine is paid symbolically, but paid, because we do not 

want to publish any sponsored adverts. We want to be honest 

with you. Please forgive this minor inconvenience, but you can’t 

make a magazine without money. We have costs: internet service, 

translations, proofreading, or even trips to artistic events. 

We are very grateful for every penny or cent. It is thanks to you that 

we will be able to publish this magazine. It is thanks to you that 

many unknown and talented artists will be able to find their recipients. 

We need your support. You are the patrons of art. Thank you! 

NOW IT’S Now TIME it’s time TO to begin! BEGIN! 

PS. If any of you would like to support us in any way – send interesting 

materials, tell us about an artistic event or an artist, cooperate 

on a non-regular or permanent basis – please contact us. You can 

also support us financially by paying a small amount to our account. 

PS EDITORS 

SORT CODE: 309626 ACC Number: 57418160 

POST SCRIPTUM 

3

TWO DAYS OF A WOMAN’S LIFE 

Renata Cygan, Jarosław 

Renata Cygan, Jarosław Prusiński 

July 15th 

I 

walk on these damn hills, and my legs bend in all possible 

and impossible ways. With all the concentration I 

am trying not to fall on my face. Jesus, girls, why do you 

do that to your feet? I feel like they are being squeezed in 

a vice. Women. And your constant desire to look beautiful 

and the irritation when one admires your beauty. You are 

so inconsistent, strange, indefinite. All wrong. Give you a 

compliment – a total disaster – the offence of the majesty 

of the Queen. Not saying anything – wrong again. You 

think we are being rude. How to talk to you? What about? 

You want people to see the advantages of your brain, but 

you put all your effort into beautifying your looks. Read a 

book sometime! This would do more for your attractiveness 

than this filler, which just starts to melt on my face. 

It’s not nice at all. You lose the unique features of your 

own physiognomy and change into mannequins. Wax 

puppets. In addition, it is disgusting when it comes to kissing. 

It can put us off. I desire you, but I don’t like you. And 

I don’t understand you. You tend to be mean, aggressive, 

arrogant, lofty, inaccessible, distrusted. Guardians of own 

panties, which you fiercely defend against the enthusiasm 

of bearish guys but at the same time you are provoking 

with short skirts and revealed frontage. Women! 

A big, shaggy dog jumps towards me with his teeth, but 

I defend myself with a purse. I’m waving it like a flail and 

finally get to the taxi. I place myself hurriedly on the back 

seat, with these hills, long legs (now I can see that it has 

not only advantages) and two-kilogram, fashionable bag. 

Whew. I have been a woman for two minutes and already 

came close to death twice! I give the overweight, sweaty 

taxi driver the name of my hotel. 

‘Of course, my queen’– The guy smiles sneakily and turns 

on the engine. I do not like this “queen”, but don’t com- 

4 POST SCRIPTUM

ment. I am very sweaty, and in addition, I feel moisture 

between my legs. I don’t know if women sweat there, 

or perhaps I got a period? I struggle with temptation to 

check it out with my finger. The taxi driver is staring at me 

in a rear-view mirror. I nervously check my bag. Women 

carry pads in their bags just in case, right? Now this is the 

“in case” scenario. I am still going through my bag constantly 

poking my breasts. For goodness sake – this is so 

uncomfortable! Ok, nice, but uncomfortable. 

‘What sex do you want to choose?’ – a woman asked me 

during registration. 

‘ I can choose?!’ – The woman pulls a face, as if a child 

had asked her the most obvious thing in the whole world. 

I wanted to be a young, handsome guy so women would 

find me attractive. But why have the trouble if everything 

could be at hand? Maybe it would be better to be a lesbian? 

I am thinking … 

I don’t know if I have a period. I don’t think my stomach 

hurts. But maybe it doesn’t have to hurt? My feet ache so 

much that I don’t feel my belly. I couldn’t find the pads. 

And besides, how do you wear them? The wings are fixed 

to the skin or the panties? I try to recall the advertisements 

and after a while I’ve got it. To the panties! I discreetly 

lift the skirt (or is it a dress? I never know what’s 

what) and see the first problem. I don’t wear panties! I 

will need to buy them, but what size do I wear? Damn! 

What are the sizes of women’s knickers?! 

The taxi driver turns right, then right again. And again. 

Makes a circle. He thinks I am an idiot? We stop at the hotel. 

Through the rear window I see the place he picked me 

from. He thinks I am a complete idiot! On the taximeter 

I see thirty-four zloty. – You don’t have to pay – he gives 

me a disgusting smile, handling over his business card. 

‘I finish work at six. Maybe a coffee?’ 

Coffee at six, you idiot? I’ve been a woman for ten minutes 

and I have already become a feminist! Do women 

really come into contact with such guys? I guess I’m beginning 

to understand what my girlfriends spoke about. I 

look into his blurry eyes which are wandering around my 

thighs and décolletage. I feel almost raped in this damn, 

stuffy taxi. My girlfriends told me stories like that, but 

back then I just thought they exaggerated, talked rubbish 

and were simply double-minded. Because how can you 

want something and don’t want at the same time? To like 

sex and feel offended when guys want to give it to them? 

‘You are a pretty piece of ass’ – the taxi driver vomited 

out the compliment – ‘I would … between those legs ... I’d 

make myself very comfortable between them...’ 

‘You wanted to have a shag for thirty-four zloty?’ – I hand 

him a hundred zloty with a poker face. 

‘Usually I take a thousand’ – The smile is slowly dying on 

his lips. ‘Oh, you are one of those ...’ – He is trying to find 

the right word. 

‘And you are one of those penny-pinchers, I see. Keep the 

change – maybe you will find something cheaper? Get 

yourself a drink on me.’ I also mention something about 

whores. And wonder if this was not too sexist. Naaah, after 

all I’m a woman now, I’m allowed! Now he knows that 

there will be no sex, so his attitude changes radically, he 

becomes very rude. I try to withdraw my cosmically long 

legs and a puzzley-sized butt from the taxi. He drives off 

before I have a chance to close the door. I hate such morons! 

In the hotel room I take off my clothes. The irritation at 

the taxi driver falls on the floor together with my floral 

dress. I stand naked in front of the mirror and seem to 

float in the air. I am filled with joy. Women always overestimate 

the importance of their appearance. And for 

us guys, sometimes a little imperfect physique is more 

arousing. But this one is perfect, and it’s all mine! I look at 

my large, slightly saggy (mmmm) breasts, beautiful butt 

and smooth thighs. Before the procedure was finished, 

before they connected me to all the cables, and I started 

dreaming, I thought of this very moment; To strip naked 

and check how the female clitoris works. I’ve seen these 

effects many times: goose bumps all over the body, groaning 

from half-opened lips, sometimes screaming. And now 

I can check it all on myself. Wonderful! I put my fingers 

down and I feel... I feel that I don’t want to. I lost interest. 

God damn! I can’t be bothered! I’ve become a female 

impotent! I need a shower. My good mood is washed 

out with sweat and all the dust from the street. I want to 

cry. Over my unwillingness to have sex and the fact that I 

treat myself like an object. After all, I have a soul for fuck 

sake! It is somewhere there, under my breasts. I guess I 

am crying. Don’t know for sure, because I’m still standing 

under the shower. Okay, I must pull myself together. 

It’s probably a hormonal shock. I just stopped receiving 

subsequent doses of testosterone from the testes and got 

huge portion of oestrogen. I need to calm down. I stop 

the water, dry my body with the hotel towel, but my long 

hair is still wet. I need to buy a hairdryer. But actually, it 

doesn’t bother me at all. It’s hot anyway. I throw myself 

on the bed and try not to cry... 

I’m going to the sea. I know that Matylda Krzemińska... 

– no, it’s Krzemieńska – spent the whole day on the 

beach. In two days Matylda will disappear, and her distraught 

family will report this fact to the police. On the 

eighteenth of July in the morning. A week has passed in 

the real world, but I’m not in the real world right now. I 

am dreaming along with few others under the control of 

some artificial, biological super-brain, to which we are all 

connected with neuro-conducts. Each of us hoping to dis- 


5

cover something useful for the police and get a fat bonus. 

Each of us dreaming our own, independent dream. It is 

the fifteenth of July. 

I can already feel the salted breeze and my mood improves 

dramatically. The closer to the sea, the more joyful I am. 

I used to have a very good nose, like a dog, I could even 

sense the fertile days in a woman. But that was long ago. 

Besides, now I have a different sense of smell, and it’s not 

mine. The forest is slowly ending, and I see an overwhelming 

blueness in the distance. I need to take advantage of 

the tree cover and do one more thing. The beach toi-toi 

is the last thing I would consider using. I squat down, pull 

my dress to the waist and pee. It’s not too successful, because 

some goes on my thigh. Lack of training. I will learn. 

But fortunately, it doesn’t spoil my good mood. Something 

else interferes with my good mood. I don’t have any 

wipes! Guys don’t need them, so I didn’t think about it. 

What a disaster! Shall I do this with a leaf? Again, I’m close 

to tears... 

I lie on the sand with my eyes closed. I breathe in salty, 

moist air, and the hum of waves swing me to sleep. What 

bliss. Somewhere close I hear people fencing themselves 

in, as if they had paid for those few meters of the beach, 

as if the beach belonged to them. In the distance children 

scream, dogs bark. Someone is calling, somebody runs 

through my blanket with a kite. And it’s not a child, it’s 

an adult guy! I am slightly pissed off. The kite man throws 

me goo-goo eyes and runs away. A kid on the blanket 

next to me digs a hole, the sand particles end up on my 

breasts and belly. It could be really blissful if it weren’t 

for those people. Noisy, embarrassing, demanding. They 

want to have it all, they think they deserve it after a year 

working in a dirty factory. Now they are able to grab a 

piece of what they think is theirs to grab. They have fierce, 

grim faces. They are waiting for an excuse to explode, to 

unload the frustration they accumulated during a whole 

working year. However, the father of the hole digging kid 

doesn’t look at me with anger. Rather... Damn! I still forget 

that I am a woman. Surely the guy stares at my breasts 

with this ridiculous smile on his face. I’m starting to understand 

what my girlfriends spoke about. Guys tend to 

be so emmmm, randy. On the other hand, I can understand 

this, but why is he staring at me? Why not the other 

women! Anyway, this is ridiculous, I’m not gay. I move my 

eyes towards Matylda. She lies down as before. Like dead. 

As soon as I think that, it makes me feel uncomfortable. I 

hope that in the real world, she is still alive and well. I look 

at the kid’s father. He is no longer staring. He is busy putting 

sun cream on his wife’s back and shouts at his little 

digger. The kid stops digging. Good, because if he did it for 

a bit longer, I’d be buried alive. 

Someone is observing Matylda. Pretty handsome guy (did 

I really think that?) in orange shorts. He looks like a rescuer 

from that stupid series with Pamela Anderson. He 

stands still and looks. I turn onto my belly to see better, 

but actually there is nothing to look at. The lifeguard spots 

me, gives me a smile and goes off. I guess I was smiling 

too! God! That’s disgusting. I feel a burst of anger. At myself, 

at the guy in orange shorts, and at my neighbour and 

his son, who likes to dig holes like a dog. I’m watching 

Matylda. I look at her slightly opened, nice, tanned thighs 

and feel a rush of lust. Fortunately, I’m still hetero. Though 

in these circumstances, I’m rather a lesbian. Anyway, I still 

like pussy. This thought makes me feel better. I close my 

eyes and give in to the noise of the sea. It’s good. Nothing 

is going to happen today. I am floating away… 

July 16th 

In the morning they appeared again. They overruled 

me, overwhelmed, rotted, and squeezed like a wet cloth. 

Dreams. Nightmarish, breath-taking, penetrating the 

deepest, most hidden corners of the subconscious. And 

this familiar fear. Fear for someone, about something, 

about the closest person, most valuable treasure. This 

dream comes back to me every now and again, usually 

when I am in a seeming consolation, when I am close to 

sorting out my life. Then they strike with double force. I 

mostly run away. I’m running, or rather trying to run, because 

even though I arrange my legs for running, my whole 

body stands still in one place. I’m extending my steps, I try 

to jump, I use my hands, I try to crawl, I start to move like 

a frightened animal. I’m like a cougar on a chain, caged 

lioness, a swallow with broken wings. I move a millimetre 

after millimetre, but the chasing enemy is right behind 

me… At this point, I usually wake up. This morning too. Despite 

the panic and fear, my sweated body and my heart 

pounding I really wanted to dream it to the end. I wanted 

to stop this image, to finally find out what’s happening 

next. But I was unsuccessful again. Again, I couldn’t find 

out who is so keen to capture me, who or what is luring on 

my life, health and soul. As always, I wake up before the 

alarm goes off. The ringing noise always stresses me. It is 

7am, it’s warm, though still a bit crisp, but it already feels 

that it will be a hot day. I open my eyes, try to come back 

to reality. The memory of the sleep races slowly become 

blurred. First thought: I’m still a woman. I’m a woman. I 

repeat it again – I am a woman! With blood and bones, 

with all the attributes and randomness. I am an attractive 

woman; good looking and very feminine. I am a woman; 

a woman, a girl, a female, aware of her beauty and the 

power. I am surrounded by this mysterious aura; I know 

how to use what nature has given me in its extraordinary 

favour. It’s a great feeling. I have this astonishing power, it 

fills my body under all the expensive clothes I discovered 

in the hotel closet. It’s great. Doubts go away, now I only 


think about the fact that I feel very sexy. And I thank the 

fate (?) that it gave me such a beautiful coating. Well, I 

could, after all, wake up in an unattractive woman’s body; 

with dry hair, bad skin and unshaved legs. I smile at my 

own thoughts. The nightmares disappeared. 

I’m going to this beach, but differently. Not only because 

during the transformation I lost a good few pounds. I’m 

walking with love, as if the act of moving my legs alternately, 

was kind of a mission. As if my walking served a 

higher purpose. Kind of rocking-swinging steps. A dance 

or something similar to a dance. I must admit that I like 

this seemingly prosaic act. I mean it was prosaic, when 

I was a man. Now it has gained some magic. This situation 

makes me feel happy, I begin 

to arrange my feet on the sand, 

gently pull my toes, while admiring 

my perfect pedicure, hips slightly 

swinging, they become rounder, 

arms and hands co-play. My neck 

pulls up, my chin travels slightly 

upwards. I’m graceful, I feel 

like a butterfly. I’m light and airy. 

A pleasantly delicate sea breeze 

plays with my fragrant hair, further 

enhancing this airiness. I smile. For 

the first time, with full consciousness 

I feel that I like being a woman. 

For quite surprising reasons, 

not because I have unlimited access 

to tits (I hate the word!), or 

the parts below (suddenly I have 

problems with obvious naming?). I 

hope I will not become too prudish. 

I can’t keep up with my own brain, 

I have no idea what it hides under 

the skull (and soft, bright hair). 

The thought of sex with a man is 

no longer disgusting, it is actually 

quite pleasant. I feel like dragging 

my hands through my body, from 

breasts to rocking hips. I don’t do that, but I feel a sensual 

pleasure at the thought. I’m very sensuous, I think of a silk 

kimono touching my tanned body. The word ‘sensualism’ 

has something sensual in it. Sounds like a caress, it’s like 

a blossoming rose, a velvet chocolate mousse on the palate. 

It’s a gentle brush, a swipe that wakes up hunger at 

the very moment of saying it. A dragonfly, sea breeze and 

a cloud. What the hell! If it goes on like that, I will start 

writing poems! 

I wonder why this new situation feels so normal. Where 

did I get this knowledge of female world? Only yesterday 

I had problems with my long hair, my legs got tangled 

trapped in high hills, going to the toilet was full of puzzles 

and traps. And now, somehow my world has changed 

dramatically. Suddenly everything became so clear; I discovered 

a new world that had been hidden from me, but 

it was always somewhere close, within the reach of my 

own hands. Déjà vu? Axis Mundi? I feel that I’ve been reworked. 

Maybe there are parallel worlds out there? Does 

that mean that I’m immortal? Am I a part of a multiverse 

suspended in space? Is there more of me? Me-women, 

me-men or even me-trees? Maybe these countless, alternative 

universes are inhabited by countless copies of 

me? Maybe here and now I am the best example of the 

fact that the sister universe, the third side of the page, is 

lurking right next to me? But that’s not relevant at this 

moment. I need to concentrate on here and now. I need 

to go back to the case, focus on observing 

Matylda. I walk confidently, 

already knowing where to find her 

– for a few last days she goes to one 

place, a little aloof, a bit away from 

other people, but not too far to be 

completely isolated. 

I can see her already. I see this unpretentious 

young, fresh and perfect 

body. The body, that accelerate 

pulse in men, and make women 

jealous. I am not an exception. 

Once again, I conclude that she is 

perfect. Perfect is everything in her 

– a firm body, a flat belly, a curvy 

buttock (without a gram of cellulite), 

not too large breasts, bright, 

shiny hair, proportional face. She 

is not a classic beauty; she doesn’t 

have this empty nothingness in her 

face like most models from magazines. 

Her facial features are a bit 

too sharp, enhanced by very dark 

eyebrows. The lips are a little too 

narrow, against the current fashion 

of “fish mouth” But in my opinion, 

they are beautiful. Everything in 

her is perfect. It drives me crazy. But I quickly fight this 

attack of jealousy, pull myself together, and with a stoic 

calm I occupy my piece of sand, from which I see perfectly 

my light-haired ward. I see the sea, the beer and 

ice-cream shop, and the main path along the dunes. I can 

keep an eye on everything. I unfold my towel, remove my 

tunic, fix my bra, tie my hair. Moisturising my body with a 

filter cream, I constantly observe Matylda. 

The lifeguard from yesterday appears. He came out 

from nowhere, as if he lurked somewhere nearby. Was he 

waiting for me? Still deadly handsome and still incredibly 

delicious. He looks at me and this is not a good look. It’s 

not nice at all. Rather deadly. It’s kind of a lizard gaze. Although 

I turned my head away, I still feel the intensity of 


7

this look. Because this is not just an innocent sweeping 

with eyes, I feel like I am being undressed and touched. 

And it’s not pleasant. There is some element of strangeness. 

My feeling is irrational, I cannot completely explain 

it, but I feel that something is definitely not right. Female 

intuition. I don’t believe it! I am really experiencing this! 

So, this is the thing! This is the secret weapon, this unique, 

animal, undefined, irrational ability to sense things! 

I look at him again. And once again, I see this impeccable 

body of a young, healthy, attractive male. And he is still 

staring, giving me goose bumps on the whole body, even 

my nipples hardened. But not pleasantly. Rather like two 

swords ready to attack. I feel anxious, and this is a concrete 

sign. Although everything is boiling inside me, I try 

to keep calm and think clearly. But what if I am wrong? 

Maybe all this is just my imagination? It’s probably stress. 

I’m too tense, need to relax a little. And why not to relax 

with him? Once again, I throw a look at this strong, 

beautifully sculpted male body. And suddenly I change my 

mind. And I am starting to think that it could be nice. After 

all he chose me, it was me who caught his attention, when 

around there are so many beautiful, eager and younger 

women. And he is delicious. And I am free. It could just be 

a coffee or a movie. All I want from him is some brain as I 

would not stand a cretin. A bit of intelligence, he doesn’t 

need to shine with erudition, nor to be a brilliant thinker. 

All I want is a nice, noncommittal conversation. It can 

even be about nothing. But it has to be interesting. And 

then we’ll go from there. 

I guess I fetched him with my thoughts. He walks towards 

me. Springily and confidently. This is a very beautiful walk, 

though a tad exaggerated, as if he played a part in a video. 

I’m smiling to myself. Egoistically and with satisfaction. He 

sits down on the sand next to me. On his forearm I spot 

a tattoo – a blue anchor. This is probably the symbol of 

seafarers? Maybe he previously sailed on commercial or 

passenger ships? He could be a very interesting man. 

‘And you are here all alone?’ – Well, that’s it! The air 

thinned, the hopes withed, the colours faded, the day got 

grey. A jerk, unfortunately... Stupid question from an idiot. 

You can see that I am alone you moron. His attractiveness 

has faded in the blink of the eye. Gone with the wind. Too 

bad... Such a disappointment. Actually, it was not only 

about the stupid question, but also about the expression 

on his face. And these eyes of the dead fish. No! 

‘Such a beautiful chick shouldn’t be alone’ – the lifeguard 

didn’t extinguish the smile on his lips, ‘I am finishing soon, 

coffee maybe? Or an ice-cream?’ 

Oh Jesus! Seriously? Again, I feel this stare of a lizard. I’ve 

got an impression that in a moment he will throw a rolled 

tongue at me, wet, sticky and slimy and then without a 

blink of an eye, he’ll eat me munching. Brrr! 

8 POST SCRIPTUM 

‘It’s nice of you, but unfortunately, I have plans for today. 

I’ve got an appointment. Tomorrow and the day after 

too. I am busy till the end of the summer actually.’ I said 

this a bit too fast but have no energy to play nicey-nicey. 

I am disappointed, angry at myself, feeling ashamed for 

my stupid thoughts and simply, I don’t want to waste my 

time. Then, I turn around lazily. The lifeguard throws one 

more lizardy look on my legs and embarks. 

Matylda is lying on her belly, her bra is undone, her 

back is burned and very red. If an egg was broken on it, it 

would easily turn into an omelette. Through my head go 

thoughts that after such an intensive sunbathing, in ten 

years, this beautiful body will turn into a wrinkled prune. I 

smile internally, there is a gentle burst of satisfaction, but 

I quickly pull myself together. I am thinking about the last 

few hours. How did it happen that in such a short time I 

managed to possess most of the feminine mysteries? I’m 

moving very easily around in this world, I feel it intuitively, 

I did not have to take any lessons, I didn’t need any 

instructions, everything took place naturally, without too 

much shock. It’s a big bonus because I thought I would 

have to learn my life again. 

The only thing I cannot cope with are the toilet issues. 

Stupid need for peeing grows into a serious problem. 

Guys just need to find a secluded place (or not such secluded), 

and then just do it. A woman needs a clean loo, 

wipes, running water, soap, etc. Well, right now I am in 

the centre of such problem. As I said, the beach toi-toi is 

out of question. I could go into the sea, but the thought of 

it gives me chills. I imagine those wild crowds; hundreds, 

thousands of women, men and children entering the 

water mainly to cultivate urine tourism, human swarms 

splashing in this warm, common soup – brrrr! So, I am 

back to the woods behind the dunes. But I have to get 

ready: need to remember to bring my handbag, cover my 

clothes and cosmetics with a towel, take wipes. My bladder 

hurts. Why am I always waiting till the very last minute? 

As if the need for peeing would go away. I put my feet 

in the flip-flops and rush towards the woods. 

A strong punch knocks me to the ground. I don’t understand 

what’s happening. Trying to get up, but I am 

tangled in the purse strap. I want to turn my head to see 

where it came from. My cheek pulsates, the hair stuck to 

my sweated face, I am trying to move it away and... there 

comes another punch. This time around the temple. My 

left eye feels like it’s going to explode. I cannot see who 

attacked me. It’s all happening behind my back. An arm is 

squeezing my neck. I am choking. I feel hot, accelerated 

breath on my neck. It smells of pickled cucumbers. The 

other hand goes on my thigh. It travels under my tunic: 

higher and higher. I still cannot see the attacker; all I see 

are trees and bushes in front of my eyes. Green. Careless. 

Will this be the last image of my life? I spot a tattoo on the

attacker’s forearm. A blue anchor. I want to scream, but the woods. But he waited patiently and finally got her. 

I can no longer bring out the voice, I cannot call for help, On July the seventeenth. No matter why he did it. Maybe 

he just likes the suffering of women. Maybe he is a 

I desperately try to grasp some air... 

freak, a sociopath, sadist. He strangled an innocent girl. 

charms and took a walk Now with him 

Matylda. 

to the woods, 

Me. Bastard! 

or maybe she 

just went there to pee? In any case, 

We 

he attacked 

are leaving 

her, 

the 

and 

room 

then 

one by one. Still sleepy, because 

he buried her body in the sand. He waited a bit longer for her 

and did it the day later. He waited like 

the 

a vulture. 

chemicals 

Circulated 

are yet circulating in our veins. We 

They woke us up the day before the end of the mission. 

On July 17th, in the the beach real world, toi-toi. in Or this someone world, scared way her and from our the eyes woods. meet. But And this face! She is... She is 

around her. It is possible that on the walk sixteenth like zombies. of July I she let used her go before me in the door- 

Matylda Krzemieńska vanished. waited We patiently were supposed and finally to got her. me! On It’s July the the feminine seventeenth. me, of course. I see it in her eyes. 

find out what happened No to matter her. I’m why in shock. he did Testosterone 

rush feels like a kick women. in the testicles. Maybe he I am is a bending. freak, a sociopath, sadist. He strangled 

it. Maybe he Eyes just of likes undetermined the suffering colour. of She also understands it. I 

dreamed her dream and she dreamed mine. This is how 

an innocent girl. Matylda. Me. Bastard! 

The policeman smiles with understanding. His eyes say, gender conversion is done. It turns into a cross-sleeping. 

The people behind us are trying to pass by. But 

‘I know what you feel, dude.’ He opens his mouth but 

says nothing about my testes. He looks at all the awakened, 

who are equally stunned like 

We are leaving the room one we by are one. still Still looking sleepy, at because each other with disbelief. I know 

the 

me. 

chemicals 

His voice 

are 

is loud 

yet circulating what she in feels our veins. right We now, walk because I know her body and 

and powerful: 

like zombies. I let her go mind. before me in the doorway 

and our eyes meet. Eyes of undetermined colour. And this face! 

‘The mission has finished! She Matylda is... She aged is me! 23 It’s was the found feminine I am me, feeling of course. a slight I see crump it in in the lower abdomen, and 

dead in the woods, five her eyes. hundred She also meters understands from the it. I maybe dreamed even her tingling dream between and she the legs. Pulsating, warm. 

beach. She was raped and dreamed strangled. mine. We This already is how have gender a She conversion probably is guessed done. It my turns reaction. Hypersensitivity of 

suspect who confessed into the a cross-sleeping. crime...’ The people behind 

the testicles, 

us are trying 

as if they 

to pass 

were 

by. 

gently stroked by her hand 

But we are still looking at each other with disbelief. I know what 

‘Lifeguard!’ – I say spontaneously. she feels right The now, policeman because got I know somewhere body and around mind. the prostate area. She got red, realizing 

the same thing as I did. I don’t know what to say, 

silent for a while, and then exchanged a look with a colleague. 

my thoughts are running like crazy. Somehow, we need 

I 

am feeling a slight crump in the to lower kill abdomen, the embarrassment and maybe with some conversation. 

‘The details of the case must even be kept tingling secret between at the the mo-legsment”, I hear hesitation in his ably voice, guessed “For the my sake reaction. of our Hypersensitivity tween us. That’s of the because testicles, of the mutual awareness of 

There Pulsating, is an intimate warm. She bond prob- 

that has been established be- 

investigation.’ as if they were gently stroked by her the hand physiology somewhere of our bodies. around And there is no time. Maybe 

three 

the prostate area. She got red, realizing the same thing as I did. 

I don’t know what to say, my thoughts are 

seconds, 

running like 

maybe 

crazy. 

five? When the seconds are 

‘Did he have a tattoo on his forearm?’, I asked, ‘a blue 

Somehow, we need to kill the embarrassment over, she will with turn some around conversation. 

There is an intimate bond has that a husband, has been children established or even a lover and a cat. I can 

and disappear. She probably 

anchor?’ The cop cringes, as if he got a kick in the nucleus. 

Not everyone believes in “sleepers” and in those 

between us. That’s because of the sense mutual that awareness she wants and of the doesn’t want to talk to me. I 

new investigative methods. physiology This one of probably our bodies. doesn’t And there know is no this. time. Maybe three 

and right now is experiencing seconds, a maybe cognitive five? dissonance. When the seconds are over, she will turn 

I know that I hit the right around spot. and I even disappear. know where She probably the What has a if husband, I did something children stupid? or Step forward and kiss 

body was, but I won’t tell even him. a lover It makes and a no cat. sense. I can The sense that she wants and doesn’t 

want to talk to me. I know this. 

her? The first and, perhaps, the last time? Touch her 

case is closed. This is the end. I now understand why lips with my mouth? Feel her breath? No. I immediately 

the killer has attacked me, not Matylda. Heisenberg’s give up this idea. It would be very awkward. Everybody 

Uncertainty Principle. The test affects the object being has left. There is only us, two policemen and a lab woman 

who the woke last time? us up, Touch injecting her something into our veins. 

What if I did something stupid? Step forward and kiss 

tested. I didn’t exist in the real world. 

her? 

He 

The 

wanted 

first 

Matylda, 

not me and it was her who he attacked lips with in the my woods. mouth? Feel Some her drug. breath? Like No. the I one imme- 

that we got to go to sleep. I 

and, perhaps, 

Maybe she was smitten diately by his give charms up this and idea. took a It walk would be know very we awkward. must leave. Everybody One of the policemen clears his 

with him to the woods, or has maybe left. There she just is only went us, there two to policemen throat, and giving a lab us woman the understanding who that we should go 

pee? In any case, he attacked woke us her, up, and injecting then something he buried into 

away. 

our veins. Some drug. Like 

her body in the sand. He 

the 

waited 

one that 

a bit 

we 

longer 

got 

for 

to go 

her 

to 

and 

sleep. I know we must leave. One 

of the policemen clears his throat, giving us the understanding 

did it the day later. He waited that we like should a vulture. go away. Circulated Then I feel her hand in mine. We go together 

that through on the sixteenth a glass door. of July We say Then nothing. I feel We her don’t hand need in mine. to. We go together through a 

around her. It is possible 

she used the beach toi-toi. Or someone scared her from glass door. We say nothing. We don’t need to. [PS] 


9

My message 

is that people should look 

around more often and notice 

the ones who need help 

Which passion is closest to your 

heart? What motivates you and 

what calms you down? 

Painting and sculpture both give me 

joy, but only whilst writing I know that 

I am doing something important. Of 

course, I do love to put colours on canvas, 

get my hands dirty with clay, or to 

figure out the person whilst drawing 

his or her portrait. Books, however, 

take me on a more unusual journey: I 

can be any of the characters I create, 

so that I live many stories, I speak on 

the most important issues to me and 

it absorbs me, makes me feel fulfilled. 

When I look at your photos, I see 

a happy, confident, romantic optimist. 

Do you agree with this? 

I am far from being the optimist 

and even further from the romantic 

(laughs). In my novels I work on difficult, 

emotional topics such as: kidnapping 

children, disappearance of loved 

ones, domestic violence or complicated 

love between father and daughter. 

While working on such stories, I do a 

thorough research: I search for people 

who have similar experiences to 

the characters in my book, I work with 

the police, with psychologists. When 

talking to raped women or a boyfriend 

who lived in a violent home, 

it’s hard to be optimistic. Working 

with the police also opens my eyes 

to statistics on crimes and people disappearances 

in Poland. To keep my 

balance, I try to see beautiful things, 

I focus on them and I laugh a lot. 

You run creative writing courses 

for beginners. Is it easy to guide 

the participants so that they can 

learn how to use words? 

I come from a family of teachers, so 

I probably have it in my blood. My 

mother taught Latin, and my father 

was a tutor for troubled teens. Teaching 

creative writing is a great pleasure 

for me, I love to ignite students’ imagination, 

share my knowledge with 

them, turn their texts upside down 

and point out easier paths. When my 

advice leads to the creation of a good 

book or a story, I genuinely enjoy it. 

I must admit that I closely follow 

your business page on Facebook 

and I am pleased to see that you 

run creative writing workshops in 

libraries. How do young people 

react to your actions? 

Youth is fantastic. I already have experience 

working with teens, because I 

used to teach art in secondary school. 

Even then I was able to inspire them 

to be more creative. At that time very 

creative projects were made during 

our classes. Young people do come to 

the workshops ready for action, with 

open minds. Often, however, they are 

not convinced of their ideas or are 

embarrassed to talk about them in a 

group. I am working on making them 

aware that there is no such thing as 

‘bad ideas’, they can all be good if we 

work them out well. It’s nice to watch 

shy people break open, and at the end 

of the class their eyes shine because 

they’ve created something really cool. 

Do you like meetings with authors 

and book fairs, where you 

have direct contact with the 

reader? 

I love them! Meetings with my readers 

give me energy to create and 

help me believe that I’m following 

the right path. I had a few moments 

in the past when I wondered if what 

I was doing made sense, and it was 

the readers who helped me making 

the right decisions. At the book fair, 

you know, there is less time to talk 

to everyone, but I have made friends 

with my readers that last to this day. 

What makes you happy? What is 

happiness for you? 

Happiness is my family, which - 

thank God - is still intact. Happiness 

is travelling, which I try to do often, 

despite my very tight deadlines. 

And my books, I love to write them, 

so it makes me happy to hear that 

the readers are waiting for them. 


Do you have your life motto that 

you follow? 

It will sound trivial: just do your job! 

What are you trying to tell your 

readers? What message can they 

find in your books? 

Each novel is on a different topic and 

each time is set in a different world. 

I would definitely like to speak on 

behalf of traumatised children, people 

who have been through a lot, or 

those who are excluded from society. 

My message is that people should 

look around more often and notice 

the ones who need help. However, 

I do not want my novels to be hard 

to read, so I dress up my stories 

in the form of a novel or a thriller. 

In what situations do you get 

inspired? Where do you get ideas 

from? 

I get ideas from the first pages of 

newspapers or from people I meet. It 

happened with the novel ‘’The One I 

Know’’, the story was born after I met 

a woman who was raped and decided 

not to tell anyone then. After many 

years it turned out that no one wanted 

to listen to her anymore. The novel 

‘’The Girl from the Mountains’’, so 

warmly received by the readers, (I am 

currently writing the second part of 

it), tells about a kidnapped child. That 

novel was born in my head long ago, 

when I watched an interview with 

Natascha Kampusch, a girl who was 

kept captive by a kidnapper for many 

years. When I’m hooked on the topic, I 

have no problems getting inspiration. 

Have you got a favourite place 

for writing or any habits in relation 

to your writing, e.g. drinking 

a cup of tea, playing background 

music, or you don’t mind? 

It happened to me that the action 

scenes in the youth novel ‘’Five Seconds 

To Io’’ were created with loud 

music in the background. However, 

I do prefer silence. Absolute silence. 

No radio, no background 

conversations and ... have mercy, 

my dear neighbours, I don’t really 

need any drilling either! (laughs). 

A cup of coffee is essential. Plus a 

laptop, my favourite desk and ... 

You love winter sports, right? You 

are great at skiing. Are there any 

other disciplines that interest 

you? 

Oh, this year for the first time I tried 

skiing with my writer friend Maria 

Zaczyńska and it was a great experience! 

At the same time, I already know 

for sure that skiing is not my thing. 

Hiking the mountains is something 

different - it’s a real pleasure. Recently, 

I was with my husband under the 

Olympus massif in Greece and I have 

to admit that the summit of Olympus, 

which we were not prepared to enter 

at the time, now is in my head instead 

of the charming Greek beaches. 


11

What does Małgorzata Warda dream about? 

I want to achieve a peace of mind. From many things 

that bother me unnecessarily. 

Do you plan any tours? Is there a chance you’ll 

visit Łódź, where I live? 

I visited Łódź last year and I remember that those 

meetings were very nice. This year I will be wandering 

in Podlasie and the Pomorskie Voivodeship, I also 

plan to visit Kutno and Braniewo. There are more and 

more meetings planned so the year looks promising. 

I try to make every Christmas perfect, but the warmest 

Christmases were celebrated in my childhood. The 

world seen through the eyes of a child was full of magic 

and dazzles. I remember my grandmother, wearing 

an apron, setting the festive table. Mum and dad in the 

kitchen – so young, younger than I am today. I remember 

my sister – then a teenager, I see myself hastily finishing 

a chapter of a book in a hundred-page notebook. And I 

see our home: candle lights, Christmas tree, the atmosphere 

of waiting, the faith that magic will make gifts appear 

under the Christmas tree. I hope my daughter will 

have similar memories of her childhood Christmases. 

Thank you very much for the conversation and for 

your time. And I wish you, Małgorzata further successes 

in fulfilling all your passions. [EK] 

If you had the opportunity to decide 

on your screening book, which one 

would you choose and why? 

I would love to see ‘’The Girl From The 

Mountains’’ and the ‘’City Of Ice’’ on the 

big screen – these novels, in the opinion of 

many people, look like ready movie scripts. 

My dream would also be filming ‘’Five 

Seconds To Io’’, but I do not know if in Poland 

we have the technology and money 

required for such a large filming project. 

Tell me, please, what are you working 

on now? Maybe a Christmas book or 

a story? 

At the end of October, my newest 

novel for children, ‘’Sylvia And 

The Planet Of Three Suns’’, which I wrote 

in cooperation with my eleven-year-old 

daughter, will be published. This is a very 

important thing for me and I look forward 

to it, especially since the novel addresses a 

difficult topic. In December, I hope to finish 

the second volume of ‘’The Girl From The 

Mountains’’ and send it out to the world. In 

the near future, a fairy tale for children will 

be released, illustrated by a talented artist, 

Asia Grudnik. It was ordered by Gdynia 

City Hall and the story is about a beautiful 

monument standing on Kaszubski’s Square. 

Would you like to say a few words 

about your perfect Christmas? Which 

one would deserve the name and 

why? 

Ewelina Kwiatkowska who runs the blog Zaczytana 

Ewelka talked to the writer Małgorzata Warda 


I would definitely like to speak on 

behalf of traumatised children, 

people who have been through a 

lot, or those who are excluded 

from society. 


13

It was 

ABOUT 

THE 

FORGOTTEN 

ERA OF 

READING 

so recent 

Piotr Jastrzębski 

Piotr Jastrzębski 


There was an ice age, post-glacial age, an old era, 

a new era, illiteracy, widespread reading and 

secondary illiteracy. Let’s imagine that a group 

of people are sitting at a table in a café, each with a 

nose in their books instead of a smartphone. Incredible, 

but not so long ago the world was just like that. 

The book was put away during the conversation only because 

it was difficult to focus on reading and talking at 

the same time. If it was possible, it would not surprise 

us that tourists in Venice riding on gondola, instead of 

admiring the surroundings, are browsing Facebook. If 

you could simultaneously read a book and admire the 

architecture, such pictures would not be bizarre. Only 

instead of paper books, they are replaced by eBooks. 

EBooks are only half of the trouble, the world is 

dominated by gossip portals, where people read 

only the titles and base their opinions on them. Despite 

the fact that the content is completely different. 

And when they are done with the world of celebrities, 

they go to Facebook or Instagram. Then they look up at 

the surroundings to choose the best place for selfies. 

So, this is the era of selfie. Before that there was an 

era of wall units furniture. The apartments in the 

blocks were almost identical. The same floor plan, 

similar mentioned wall units, the difference was only in 

the series of books resting on the shelves. Some of them 

were only “Tigers”, “BKD” (Battles, Campaigns of the Commander), 

or History in a nutshell, plus detective stories 

from the Key or Dachshund series, but above all in the 

main place, necessarily behind the glass, four-volume 

PWN encyclopedia. And “Polish History” in countless volumes. 

In some apartments, however, the choice was much 

wider, and the quantity of books outnumbered those that 

are now in municipal public libraries. Those apartments 

were a paradise for bookworms. Their owners collected 

books for years, and getting each position had its own 

story. That’s probably why most owners decided to sign 

them. Borrowing books was a ritual, an excuse to stop 

by for tea and talk about neighbors and about the book. 

It was possible to combine gossips with popular science 

literature, detective story or romance. But even where 

there were only Key series, or only “Tigers”,the owners 

really read them which is hard to believe. I know, I know 

it sounds stupid, but the average PRL man (who lived under 

the communist regime – translator’s note) had such 

broad general knowledge that he was able to talk on almost 

any topic without making too much factual mistakes. 

The idea for this text were forgotten books from before 

1990. That is, those published in the PRL, where 

some books were genuine pearls, and lowbrow literature 

also had its fans. Then the Harlequin romance 

books time arrived, and then the revolutionary invention 

called the Internet killed even those short love affairs. 

Let’s go back to reading bandwagon. Once there 

was something like that. People visited each other 

and exchanged information about what is currently 

on top. That’s how I met Cortazar or Marquez. There 

was a trend for Latin-American literature at the time 

and those who did not know “Hopscotch” or “One Hundred 

Years of Solitude” were not very socially attractive. 

The basis of a good novel is in its atmosphere. If it 

evokes emotions such as nostalgia, joy, sadness, anger, 

gloom, it’s a good novel. If it brings laughter - it’s very 

good. But if it can take us to the depth of its content, 

puts us closer to the characters described, it’s perfect. 

I 

remember only some snapshots from my holidays when I 

was young. At the age of fifteen, it wasn’t particularly important 

to me where I was going to. All you needed was 

a fairly clean lake or a piece of beach and a kiosk where I 

could buy “Youth’s World” magazine and other newspapers. 

It was not easy, because magazines weren’t available 

everywhere, but if the local kiosk had them in stock, I immediately 

‘set up a folder’ with them. Yes, they used to keep 

folders where the newsagent put away booked magazines. 

Then there was “Together” and, of course, “Reporter’s Express” 

magazines. The last item was rare because of the 

editing cycle. In popular weeklies, books’ episodes were 

printed, and their content and level of articles beat those 

printed today, even Kąkolewski. Despite the magazines, 

where both columns and reportages, as I mentioned, were 

engaging and exciting just like modern films, there was always 

a book sitting next to it on my table. It was not just 

any book, a book specially selected for the circumstances. 

So in the winter in Bieszczady Mountains I read “All the 

Brightness” of Stachura and “Next to Paradise” Hłaski; 

after returning to the city I choose Witkacy, but I sensed 

the falsehood of pre-war bohemia and fake exaltation. 

The only book of that time that exposed it to some 

extent was “The Last Bohemians” - I don’t remember 

the author. 

On those autumn evenings I read, in fact I still read 

it occasionally, “Luny w Bieszczadach’’ by Jan Gerhard. 

It may seem ridiculous, why I read a book 

that I already know by heart? Or even ‘books’, because 

there are more items to which I return at least once a year, 

but more on that later. I don’t really know, there is one 

sentence, phrase, a thought, which in itself, taken out of 

context, does not have such firepower as when reading a 

book, i.e. entering the atmosphere to get lost and become 

an active participant instead of a passive reader. Like Alice 

in Wonderland, When I open the book, I go to another 

world and get angry at anyone who brings me back from 


15

there. Especially if it is “Bad” by Leopold Tyrmand, because 

I’m always there, ready for any threats, and full of adrenaline. 

So I can react impulsively before I realise that I am 

no longer at the kiosk of Juliusz Kolodent, waiting for the 

thugs with whom the tram driver is to kill the murders, but 

I am in my apartment and someone wants to tell me that 

he has a new smartphone application. How can you prevent 

me from waiting for the killers of Kuba Virus, a young 

journalist? I’m not a fan of detective stories as such, but 

the “Bad” mentioned above is a book that combines many 

genres, and its biggest advantage is that when I start reading 

it, I always get dressed appropriately for the weather 

and take a bat or other tool with me - of course in my imagination. 

The worst thing is when I find a fragment about 

how two friends open a gouda vodka bottle. I feel awkward 

as the third non-drinker. Similarly, reading Gerhard 

I put on shoes that are suitable for the mountain hiking, 

and with “All the Brightness” I buy cigarettes and tea. It’s 

a type of conscious schizophrenia that I also consciously 

feed. This is how books used to work. Pretty strong, isn’t 

it? Probably no game works so hard on the imagination. 

I 

only described a fraction of my favorite books from 

years ago. Although there were many more, they did not 

take my time and I did not read those at the expense of 

playing football, hiking in the mountains or long travels. 

Every time I opened the book, I opened the door and I entered. 

Many times, I could not accept that they have an 

end. One would like it to last forever and the world contained 

in them waited for me until I came back from reality. 

The PRL period was grey only for those who could not 

colour it with literature. Two public TV channels were 

not tempting us to watch a movie, so it was also a plus. 

Now I will tell you something that you probably won’t believe 

me. During lessons, classes or whilst doing my homework, 

I wrapped the book I was reading in the cover of the 

textbook so that everyone was convinced that I was studying. 

It used to be this way, probably these times will never 

come back. However, I must honestly admit, that while writing 

this text I moved back in time mid-eighties for a while. 

I 

wish today’s young generation to experience such 

impressions which are now so difficult to recreate. 

I won’t even mention reading books with a torch under 

the sheets or in the tent, because it’s time to start 

up the time machine and come back to send this text. 

Oh, and such a conclusion: most of the books of 

that time, even the most thrilling ones, would not 

have a chance to appear on the publishing market 

today. It is a pity, and I really feel sorry for the modern 

generation. At least we do have some memories...[PJ] 



17

POETRY 

*** 

The rooms we live in they change 

how many furnishings crushes you one night 

reposition in bed moving a point cloud outside the window 

your body taken into consideration by someone 

who rules here introduces order by blurring the traces 

after past hugs laughs and separations 

when the tongue bleeds and can’t say what 

kind a bird is and where it flies carried away by the wind 

Organ donors 

The pastor at the pulpit 

said on Sunday: 

We are not giving up 

ambitious plans 

We will buy a new instrument 

Everyone, without the risk 

of life loss can become 

an organ donor 


Barbara Gruszka-Zych 

translated by Andre Woz 

Marek Porąbka 

translated by Renata Cygan

*** 

I got 

from you Mother 

a few life verities 

and I spent a long time 

unravelling them 

and started to understand 

what it means 

to be a person 

and to have a beautiful life 

until you were in hospital 

when it turned out 

that a person can consist of 

a name and surname 

and a list of diseases 

and to be a person 

as long as the machinery 

of intensive care allows 

later 

you can have a nice funeral 

and be a snapshot in memories 

and you know what Mother? 

the flowers on your window-sill 

are blooming with health 

Agnieszka Jarzębowska 

translated by Marek Marciniak 

Show me just 

one tear 

you tough man 

I asked 

let me know that 

it hurts 

moves 

makes happy 

makes sad 

harms 

Reverse 

SENT 

b y R EADERS 

you used to say: this is so difficult 

I now beg you 

show me dry eyes 

you tough man 

you say: this is so difficult 

Wanda Dusia Stańczak 

translater by Renata Cygan 


19

I am I am a a Troubadour 

I don’t I don’t have have dreams dreams about about the the dead. dead. 

I don’t I don’t convoke convoke them. them. 

Let Let them them hang hang in the in the clouds, clouds, as happy as happy as white as white swans. swans. 

Sometimes Sometimes I am I am a troubadour. a troubadour. 

In my In my sleepless sleepless brain brain 

I go 

I 

through 

go through 

the 

the 

memories 

memories 

of those 

of those 

who 

who 

are 

are 

gone. 

gone. 

Although trying to keep my dreams completely clear, 

Although trying to keep my dreams completely clear, 

The dead are always with me. 

The dead are always with me. 

Through sorrow to tears. 

Through sorrow to tears. 

I don’t dream about the perished. 

Why I don’t to torment? dream about the perished. 

The Why emptiness to torment? is empty, see-through like a veil. 

Nothing The emptiness can fulfil it, is life empty, goes see-through on like a mourner. like a veil. 

With Nothing a spider’s can thread fulfil it, you life cannot goes on stitch like a the mourner. broken rail. 

With a spider’s thread you cannot stitch the broken rail. 

Renata Cygan 

Renata Cygan 

translated by Renata Cygan 

translated by Renata Cygan 


Lone Instrumentalist 

Ghouls sit quietly in the front row, 

Coldness rolls over, 

Drizzly weather, 

Scent of matthiola and lavender, 

The piano shines like precious stones, 

Lethargic lighting slowly blinks, 

And among sounds as soft as feathers, 

Sits a lone instrumentalist. 

Some scary vampires, 

Ugly witchcrafts, 

And the ghosts dance in pantaloons. 

The stressed musician licks his dry lips, 

Surrounded by the noise and laughs. 

The sound gets tangled with the glee, 

The echo is wild, 

The hall is empty, 

But at the very end sits... she 

Nocturnes get louder 

calming the stress, 

The room gets lighter, her heart softens. 

His eyes meet hers in deepest darkness, 

She is wearing hopes and a silk dress. 

And when he sees her by the door, 

Suddenly feels so hugely blessed, 

‘Cause he’s got someone to play for... 

Renata Cygan 

translated by Jerry Umys and Renata Cygan 

She the Emigrant 

Casting myself into corners of the world; 

The same wind blows, 

The same moon rises now and then. 

I am floating in the midst of distant poles, 

Trying to settle down somewhere between them. 

A shrunken globe reveals unclosed gates, 

Exotic languages don’t scare me (nor new places). 

I collect colours, 

I absorb flavours, 

I read faces. 

Sometimes suddenly wicked fears afresh arrive, 

Throwing grains of sand into my tired eyes, 

The sorrow grabs me, 

Grief is taking a well known path, 

And it rocks me side to side like a sinking boat. 

The emptiness swells like a lump in my throat, 

To ascend the hills to cosy nests of storks. 

Open spaces still distort the right directions, 

The bread smells so different, 

I am becoming huffy. 

Growing fragile inside, 

Though the surface’s happy, 

Am I looking for enchanted dreams on crossroads? 

Separated by few rivers rocks and borders, 

Love my place so much. 

For everything, 

And nothing. 

Renata Cygan 

Translated by Jerry Umys and Renata Cygan 


21

P O E T R Y 

POETRY 

POETRY 

RECOMMENDED 

MARCIN KURCBUCH 

In today’s poetic corner shines Marcin Korcbuch. I met Marcin in 2018, at a poetic meeting in Cracow – it was a promotional 

event of an anthology in which he participated. During the evening I listened to better and worse poems, 

but it was Marcin’s poetry, that straightened my back, touched me and intensified all senses. This was undoubtedly 

something else, another level, and it was a good thing. I congratulated him after the meeting, I said that he was 

the star of the evening and bought his latest volume “Spring Intensification”. Money well spent. Marcin Kurcbuch, despite 

his young age, already has his own style, extraordinary feeling for words, which he uses cleverly; he can play 

with them and is aware of their power. His poems touch a wide variety of issues, are full of lightness, maturity and 

empathy. He is not afraid of controversy, but although he likes using strong expressions, the final material is always 

very tasteful. Marcin, in his verses, clenches and releases, juggles and manipulates. He is chasing the bunny, to let 

him go into the woods. And that’s the point. I am looking for such things in poetry and I expect this from poets, and 

from artists in general. Nowadays, there is no certain fashion in poetry, there are no frameworks or trends, but unfortunately 

the overwhelming majority writes in the same manner, or at least very similarly. There is rarely a situation 

of sudden glare, a thunder or surprise. And in my opinion, that’s precisely what we have here. I can recommend 

Marcin’s poetry, because although he is still young, his writing is mature, thought through and has this special spark. 

Undoubtedly, it is still evolving, so there is a lot of potential, and something to wait for. And am waiting for more. 

Marcin Kurcbuch – a poet, Polish philologist, born in Łódź on 3/12/1990. He has written and published 

four books: Cleansing, I Am Watching, Operation Sky and Spring Intensification. A lover of psychology 

and its practical uses in life, leads his profile on Instagram. In addition, he is passionate about photography. 

Renata Cygan 


Marcin Kurcbuch 

Universe 

My name is heaven 

I have everything that’s needed 

I am the moon and the sun 

Natalia Przy 

bysz 

I have a word so vast to fit all the planets 

In my eyes there is enough space to perceive 

every feeling 

and the stellar dust which remains after a 

human 

I have a head without borders 

flowing through it is the Milky Way 

I have implanted the sun and I love everyone 

with it 

History uncensored 

Adam tempted Eve 

you know 

with his penis, 

with testicles ripening in the Sun 

she did with apples 

which were not so keen to jump into the 

basket. 

the fruit in the mouth 

melodies sound 

when they fall into the ear 

seducing and rocking is their paradise 

rocking is Adam on the womb of Eve 

rocking is Eve on Adam’s chest 

rocking is their paradise 

the Earth also swings nervously 

strange tangerines bloom with time 

to the garden another snake will head on 

wrapping the dreams with nectar. 

mostly Earthlings. doesn’t matter that 

love burns 

because in six billion years I will breathe 

with the cold 

I will become a punitive God 

bloodthirsty at the birth of a star 

nothing will be beautiful but that’s fine 

After all, you – aesthetes of the pen 

lovers of movies 

art connoisseurs 

will be long gone 

when you smile 

when you smile 

the sun is rounding in me 

when I smile 

the tree in you is blooming faster 

share your smile 

give it to the city, village, bus top, the office 

let the bus not ride hungry 

there is a temptation at some point 

loins and arrows. of crossbow 

straight into the heart. 


23

I am often asked, whether such gatherings 

of poets are useful, whether 

they serve a larger purpose (besides 

patting organizer’s and participant’s 

egos), whether they are needed at 

all. I personally think they are. At poetic 

festivals in Poland and abroad 

(often distant) I tend to be regularly. 

Have been for a good few years now. 

So, what do these meetings serve? 

Primarily it’s about presenting poetry 

in a different geographic dimension, 

sharing it with people (because we 

do not create just for ourselves), to 

absorb some exotic air, to exchange 

good energy. For me, most important 

are always people; new contacts, 

precious acquaintances, unexpected 

friendships. Because this is not about 

reciting one’s own poetry, but about 

interactions and integrations. Indeed, 

such meetings also often result in further 

artistic cooperation – we translate 

poems into different languages, we 

publish common volumes of poetry, 

anthologies, etc. And yet another important 

and serious matter – promot- 


Festivals, rallies, 

poetic meeting 

Polish poetry beyond the borders 

of our country. It sounds like a mission, 

but I think it really is a kind of mission. 

I have known Rozalia Aleksandrova for 

many years. She has attended poetic 

festivals in London and Poland, our 

paths crossed here and there. I once 

received an invitation to the International 

Festival “Spirituality without 

Frontiers” in Plovdiv, Bulgaria. Spiritus 

Movens of this event is Rozalia. 

Rozalia is an employee of the Medical 

University of Plovdiv and belongs 

to a dynamic group of quantum poets. 

Yes, yes, I was also surprised. 

What is this quantum poetry creature? 

The process of shaping the 

idea of this poetic genre began in 

2003, and in March 2006 an informal 

group called “Quantum and 

Friends” was formed. It focuses on 

poets, physicist, musicians and artists. 

Quantum poetry, according to a 

very loose definition, is a poetry of 

the Spirit, poetry of angels, poetry 

of goodness, love and light. It is being 

born spontaneously at the very 

moment of the author’s unity with 

the universe. Because the physical 

universe is made up of pure energy, 

which can be transformed into another 

form of energy or matter, without 

any loss during transformation. 

The geographical place of the festival 

is not irrelevant, because Plovdiv 

has very interesting and rich history. 

This is one of the oldest cities in 

Europe (and some sources say that 

it’s the oldest), located among seven 

hills, and as we know, seven is a 

magical number. In addition - under 

the actual city, below the feet of passers-by, 

a few meters underground, 

there is an ancient city created by the 

Thracians, whose origins date back 

to six thousand years before Christ. 

This fact adds to the atmosphere 

and energy of this place, as well as 

to the quantum poetry itself, and art 

in general. You can literally feel the 

power of the ancient times, at the 

intersection of the present and the 

antiquity, the power of the ancient 

history of the Thracians and ancient

spirit. Probably Spartacus came from 

Thrace, there are Thracians in Homer’s 

poetry as the people allied with 

the Trojans and related to them. 

The inhabitants of Plovdiv cultivate 

the memory of the size of Thrace, and 

the Thracians who created the foundations 

for our Latin culture. In contact 

with ancient civilization, in Plovdiv 

we can touch the fragile remits of the 

ancient world. Add to this the narcotic 

aroma of linden and acacia, the stone 

streets of the old town, small cafes, 

roses bringing Bulgaria fame, and the 

friendly atmosphere, and the picture 

draws itself. In this environment, poetry 

is born, and in this environment, 

artists are formed and wading, magic 

is born there. On the curves of 

the sidewalks climb poems, the Sun 

smiles, pictures paint themselves, 

and cherries burst with sweetness. 

In 2019, Plovdiv was awarded the title 

of European Capital of Culture in 

a duet with another thousand-year 

old town, Italian Matera. It also 

added some flavour and uniqueness 

to our poetic encounters. 

Individual events of this year’s festival 

“Spirituality without Frontiers” 

took place in some magical places: 

Festival Gala in the Centre of Culture 

Trakart, full of treasures from 

thousands of years ago, an extraordinary 

concert by Mihaella Stoikova 

and Samuil Genev (Oh my god! The 

Plovdiv 2019 

Spirituality 

without 

Frontiers 

way he played guitar!), In Belozem – an astonishing mecca of artists 

owned by Ganu Ganev Ghandi. I will not even try to describe with 

words the magic of this place, you must be there to feel it on your own 

skin. In such entourage we read poems, stunned by the uniqueness 

of places full of history, pictures and music, we integrate with Bulgarian 

poets and artists, being welcomed with extraordinary hospitality. 

I am glad I could be part of this unusual event. In this place I will you into 

a secret, because for me this year’s festival in Plovdiv was very special for 

one more reason – I received a beautiful statuette (created by a Plovdiv artist-sculptor 

Rangel Stoilow Bacho), the most important prize; Grand Prix of 

the festival “Spirituality Without Borders”. For my poems (which the quantum 

poets found to be quantum), translated into Bulgarian by Rozalia Aleksandrova 

and Teresa Moszczyńska-Lazarova (festival’s good Fairy), but also for many 

years of cooperation with preparations of the Festival Almanac. I designed 

covers and created illustrations. A great honour and a huge distinction. 

My next poetic trips are festivals in India, Russia and Poland. 

And next year, hopefully Plovdiv again, because there I get the 

Sun. Something to wait for, a reason to write new poems. [RC] 

Renata Cygan 


25


Visual Arts

VISUAL ARTS 


27

T here was a man once, his name was Copernicus. It’s his 

example that shows us that sometimes, it actually is the 

whole world that is wrong, and 

one person can 

that is wrong, and 

be right. 


I did a lot to not become an 

MAJA BOROWICZ 

artist 

an Interview 

Maja Borowicz is a painter, graphic designer, and an artist. She paints using 

the oil technique in the surreal trend, bordering between magical and emotional 

realism. All her works are created through combining imagination, talent, 

and traditional craftsmanship. In addition to perfect craftsmanship, the viewers 

can see a deep mysticism and emotion in her works in her works, which creates an 

impression of their souls being taken on a journey through time and space, where 

they can experience the story of the characters depicted. 

She has had many individual and collective exhibitions in Poland and abroad. She 

has received prizes in numerous international art competitions, including Art Revolution 

Taipei 2014 in Taiwan and Spectrum Miami 2018, USA. 


29

I must admit, it was very important 

to me to have you with us today. I 

carry images within me, which I try 

to paint with words. Some of your art 

pieces are what I carry in my heart 

and mind. You miraculously found 

those images and brought them to 

life. Please accept my sincere respect 

and admiration for your talent 

and sensitivity the nature gave you. 

Thank you for the invitation and the 

appreciation. But I don’t think I have 

any special talents. Because what 

is talent? As you have written in the 

past, and I think very similarly – it’s a 

vector composed of small traits, such 

as patience, way of thinking, manual 

skills, and maybe the sensitivity you 

mentioned. My sensitivity is like a 

tsunami. It comes, slowly traversing 

the seas and oceans, gain speed and 

height, until they destroy everything 

in their way once they reach the 

shore. There’s no man-made dam 

that can stop a tsunami… And I don’t 

have one either. This sensitivity can be 


a gift and a curse. Those are the traits 

Nature gave me, but it’s the hostility 

of the world around me that caused 

it to manifest in such a way, and I’m 

not surprised that my works mirror 

what you carry in yourself. Fate has 

decided to throw us into a place that’s 

similar both culturally and historically. 

I often experienced the works of artists 

from different corners from the 

world and I concluded that the creators 

from our own cultural circle have 

an exceptional sensitivity and a skill 

to creating symbols, figuring out and 

telling outstanding stories. The only 

problem is, we don’t really fall into the 

international trends with our unusual 

messages. Having said that, I say “it 

happens, I can’t do it differently, what 

can I do about the whole world being 

wrong...” There was a man once, his 

name was Copernicus. It’s his example 

that shows us that sometimes, 

it actually is the whole world that is 

wrong, and one person can be right. 

I wouldn’t go that far with Copernicus. 

Even ancient Greeks and some 

earlier civilizations knew the things 

Copernicus stated thousands of years 

later. Epicurus wrote in his letters to 

Herodotus (4 centuries before Christ) 

about the infinite universe. For our 

astronomer from Toruń, the universe 

started and ended with the Solar 

System. But it’s true, Copernicus had 

the courage to go against the mainstream 

that was in force at the time. 

You received so many international 

prizes that it’s hard to list them all. 

Which one of them would you say is 

the most important to you? 

That’s right, it’s quite a bunch. The 

most important one is the one that 

made people see my works. That was 

Art Revolution Taipei, in Taiwan, 2014. 

First time I have publicly shown what 

I paint, and to my surprise, people 

liked it. Up until then, I was convinced 

that I’m not creating anything great, 

everyone could think of it and paint 

it. That moment was unique, it turned 

my life 180 degrees. Earlier, I did a lot 

in order to never become an artist,

and people and events surrounding 

me cemented my view that being an 

artist isn’t a good way. Artists are peculiar, 

can’t deal with life, you need to 

have a steady job and build a family! 

I wasted the better half of my life on 

that, and I got nothing out of it. From 

the perspective of time, I can say that 

I was going against Nature. Seeing 

main streets of multi-million Taipei 

decorated with flags with my painting 

on them, posters, billboards, people 

touched by my works, waiting in line 

for an autograph, I had to admit to 

myself that I am an artist. This was a 

huge twist in my life, one that gave 

me a feeling of freedom. I stopped 

trying to fit the norms, started asking 

difficult questions and rejecting things 

forced upon anyone by anyone. Additionally, 

I had a chance to experience 

the Taiwanese culture. It was such a 

high culture that I was astounded. I 

admired that. It was like a breath of 

fresh ocean breeze – I suddenly understood, 

that my previous knowledge 

of the world is nothing. From 

then on, I started to meet completely 

different people than ever before in 

my life. I felt like a freshwater fish that 

has just been removed from a salty 

ocean and put into a Masurian lake. 

On your website, you have written 

that Nature hasn’t given only given 

you good things. As it usually is 

with Nature, it can be nasty. What 

can you say about your condition? 

Is Nature nasty? I wouldn’t say it like 

that. People can be nasty, not Nature. 

Nature is… accidental, but its intentions 

are pure. Nature tries different 

forms and combinations to survive. A 

conversation about my conditions and 

my life would take up a whole book. I 

won’t go on about every time I heard 

a diagnosis and how they influenced 

my life. Though that influence was 

extreme. One of the most important 

things I got from Nature is my hereditary 

gluten intolerance. However, 

because I was born in the dark backwards 

times, no one could diagnose 

it. So I got to know life from the side 

of hospitals, clinic, sanatoriums, pain 

and constant health problems. If we 

add times of socialism and changes 

after 1989 to that, meaning unskilled 

doctors that demanded money, hospitals 

and sanatoriums looking more 

like prisons than institutions created 

to save children lives – that’s how you 

get a scenario for a good film drama. 

If it wasn’t for the fact that we’re talking 

about my life, maybe I would be 


31

happy to watch that film. Sometimes 

I laugh and say that I’m just another 

link of evolution between man and 

something that lies in the future. My 

organism treats gluten like arsenic, 

like a poison, even in trace amounts. 

Most people don’t know that currently, 

gluten (that is, particles of wheat 

flour) is added to almost everything 

as an “improver”, e.g. cheese, jellies, 

juices, sausages, spices, etc. Therefore, 

I am forced to discard almost 

all products that can be found on supermarket 

shelves, so I will definitely 

not allow food companies to get me. 

These days, when apparently every 

good is available, such restrictions 

teach you to be humble. I discovered 

that I eat to survive, not live to eat. I 

also discovered that equality and justice 

don’t exist. And that the only right 

and best way I to accept responsibility 

for yourself and your actions. My 

needs are so unusual and individual, 

that there is no welfare program that 

I could be bought with. I’m proud of 

that. I also know that it’s people (and 

not Nature) who put me through so 

many bad experiences and put so 

many weird labels on me that it’s hard 

to count them all. I spent most of my 

life in therapy, learning to look at the 

word through eyes of others. I took 

that to heart, often gaining admiration 

for my personality, as if I was the 

most normal person in the world, with 

whom everyone wants to be friends! 

It always amuses me, because I don’t 

know anyone with a bigger mental 

healthcare baggage than myself. 

A while ago, we talked about your 

way into professional painting not 

being the easiest. Have you ever 

tried to get any grants from the 

Ministry of Culture? 

My way to painting professionally 

started rather early, when my application 

to an art high school was rejected. 

Then I understood that being an 

artist is more than just talent. It’s an 

art of fulfilling certain social roles, the 

ability to fit into certain frames. I also 

understood that I would not be part of 

this framework, and thus understood 

that I would never be an artist. Then 

I did everything not to become one. 


And I almost succeeded. Were it not 

for that one day in 2014 when recipients 

loved my paintings. And here 

is one of the things that I will never 

understand in society - many people 

give me support, they want to see my 

work, they want me to paint. But on 

the other hand, we’ve created a society 

system that rejects individuals like 

me. We are rejected using our hardearned 

taxes, which means we are our 

own sponsors. The fact that people 

are rejected, segregated and written 

off; this is incomprehensible to me, it 

just does not work! Yes. I have been 

looking for support in the system for 

my artistic activities many times. Especially 

when winning competitions 

or in contact with other artists and organizations. 

Both at the local and the

highest level (I mean the President of 

the Republic of Poland). Regardless of 

the awards, exhibitions and quality I 

create, I have never received support 

from any state institution dedicated 

to artistic activities, and there have 

been at least a dozen or so attempts. 

This taught me that the only value is 

support from individuals and individual 

initiatives. For example, I have a 

friendly Foundation called Your Heritage, 

which deals with the unique 

Polish Culture and which supports 

me whenever possible. I also have a 

growing group of collectors, gallery 

owners and recipients who also show 

me great support. In this way I understood 

that individual people are more 

important than the institutions that 

we are forced to sponsor through taxes. 

And I wish that in the future our 

money used to sponsor these institutions 

would remain in our pockets. 

I believe in the wisdom and freedom 

of people. I believe that the recipients 

themselves know what they like, what 

they want to read and watch and 

do not need any top-down institutions 

to show them what they should 

admire and what they shouldn’t. 


33

Before I sit down to write, I often set up scenes in my 

head. They come to me by themselves, I just try to remember 

and describe them. How is it for you? 

I think it’s similar, though I don’t need to describe them. 

There is a theory concerning how every one of us sees the 

world. Some people “see” it with words, others through 

images, and others as a series of connected events, and 

others through what they hear, etc. I see everything as an 

image. When I feel anger, I see an image in my head. For 

example when I see the written word: “horse”, I immediately 

see a picture of a horse in my head – without that, 

the word doesn’t mean anything. So my head is filled with 

images, my mind is filled with photos and illustrations for 

everything. As you say, they come on their own. But I don’t 

need to describe them anymore. What I have to do is get 

them out into the light through painting… and that’s when 

it clashes with reality, because I still consider my skills to 

weak to truly reflect what I see in my head. I think that 

you said something similar about your creations. I accept 

that with humility and I’m still learning how to improve. 

In addition to traditional oil painting, you also try other 

techniques. What is Giclee? 

Giclee is not a special technique. In a nutshell, it consists 

of reproducing the image on canvas with pigment paints 

using a suitable plotter. Artists use this method mostly 

to obtain limited series of prints of their paintings. 

It’s primarily the business of specialized printing shops. 

What occupied and occupies me among all traditional 

techniques were my most beloved pencil or ink sketches, 

oily pastels and acrylic airbrush painting, allowing for perfect 

tonal transitions. However, I had the pleasure of working 

on animated and feature films. This is the real space 

for new techniques! To work on films, I had to learn to use 

specialized tools such as: Wacom graphics tablet and complex 

programs for drawing, modeling, generating special 

effects, assembling and animating drawings in recordings, 

etc. The world of film and what is created there to delight 

the viewer is such an adventure! But to participate in it you 

need to have a huge imagination, see the images before 

they appear on the screen, have an experienced eye and 

an equally experienced hand, and know how to use specialized 

programs that only people from the industry know 

about. Now this is what you can call “another technique”. 

of art is to play the most sensitive strings of the receiving 

person’s feelings so that they remember what they 

have read or watched, hopefully for the rest of their 

lives. In the times we live in, people think that we remember 

the shocking. So, everyone tries to shock: advertisements, 

headlines, so-called celebrities. So shocking 

is the set way that most people are used to. But 

the world keeps going forward. If you ask me, we need 

something more to truly touch human hearts and minds. 

And as to “painting” with your own blood or excrement, 

that’s nothing out of the ordinary. People have been doing 

so for thousands of years, since prehistoric times, 

our planet is overfilling with blood spilled in one way or 

the other, similarly to our excrement. But our wise ancestors 

never had to call it art. On my way to my work I 

met several people who pointed me towards some things. 

One of them is such truth: “Never create something that 

can be done by someone else and never create something 

that has been long created”. That’s what I steer 

myself with, because I can see that it’s worth something 

– why should I use my own blood to paint if anyone can 

do it, and people have done so for thousands of years? 

There’s a lot of similar examples around the world. I 

try to stand on the sidelines and always ask myself the 

question: “Why is this person doing what they’re doing?” 

If a creator can only say one thing about their 

art, that they “want to be shocking”, that’s not an answer 

– that’s something a director of a cheap ad might 

say, but not from a creator that aspires to be among 

names such as Michelangelo or Leonardo da Vinci. 

I don’t think 

There are painters who use their own blood or excrement 

in painting, to shock the viewer. What could 

Maja Borowicz do to shock? Is it worth it to choose that 

path? Art should shock, but should it do so at all costs? 

I don’t think art should shock. I thought about that a lot (I 

always think about everything a lot, I analyze, and I think 

that’s the only proper approach to things) and I reached 

the conclusion that the role of art isn’t to shock. Its role 

is to speak about things that are important and relevant, 

to make the viewer stop for a while and think. The role 


So, I don’t try to be shocking, I don’t aim to supply cheap entertainment. 

My thoughts and my life are too precious for 

me to be wasted on such things. I try to create a safe space 

for me and my viewers, one that we can use to live and 

discover the basic, but most important values in our lives. 

There are ideas which I don’t let out into the daylight, 

for example the second part of the Sumerians story, 

that would show their approach to erotica in detail. 

Do you have some sort of image in your head that you 

don’t have the courage to paint? 

think it’s a very difficult challenge, because our times don’t 

allow for rebellion, anger, or aggression. And they’re normal, 

human feelings, that also need a space for expression. 

We got lost in tolerating everything so much that we are 

ashamed of admitting difficult feelings, because we fear 

they might offend someone, and we’ll be socially branded. 

Creating a beautiful safe harbor for such feelings and emotions 

of the viewer is a huge challenge for me, one I don’t 

know if I’ll be able to conquer. By the way, I wouldn’t consider 

erotics something abnormal, or something people don’t 

know, something that should be feared, quite the opposite. 

Beautiful eroticism is art. Maybe art lies in threading the 

fine line between eroticism and just normal sex, and here 

I’ll agree that it can be a huge challenge for the creator. 

Yes, I do carry images with me that I haven’t painted, and 

I don’t know if I’ll ever paint. But it’s not a matter of courage, 

but of the fact that I haven’t yet found the best form to 

convey them. For example: I have images in my head that 

show difficult feelings of frustration or anger. But they’re 

banal. I have yet to find a way to show those feelings in a 

sophisticated, wise and non-obvious way. So, I’m far from 

painting them. It ties into our conversation just a moment 

ago – it’s not art to just splash some red blood onto the 

canvas when you feel frustrated in a given moment. Art is 

putting it in a form that will make viewers unable to take 

their eyes from the result, despite the dread they feel. So 

that, when they look at it, they can feel those hard feelings 

in a safe way. So that it doesn’t urge them to do wrong but 

that they see that they’re not alone in those feeling, that 

everyone has the right to feel and that there exists a safe 

space, an allowance to experience them in a beautiful way, 

without hurt, without shock and without being offensive. I 

art should shock 

Who is Mara Borowicz in her private life? I apologize, 

but our readers would kill me if I skipped this question. 

What would you see in an ideal partner? Aside from the 

main requirement of toughness. 

Heh! A great question, one I’ve been trying to answer… for 

the last 30 years or so. I think that my privacy only matters 

when it impacts my art. So, it matters a lot. There 

wouldn’t be paintings without my private experiences. 

Every day, I’m just a normal human being, but one that 

fails to fit the social norms. Through most of my life, I attempted 

being normal, to fit into groups, institutions, do 

full time job, have friends, a house, a family, etc. But that 

road only led to despair and breakdowns. For a long time 

I couldn’t understand why I’m trying so hard and nothing 

works out. And one day, just after winning that competition 

in Taiwan, I thought that maybe I’m simply not normal 

and that’s why normal doesn’t work out. Simple as that. 

When I let those thoughts in, it just so happened that I 

met my husband, who is undoubtedly (horror!) an artist, 

and an exceptional person that can understand me like 

none other. He’s my ideal and my best friend. He doesn’t 

require me to be a mother, a cook, a maid, beautiful, 

or normal. And whenever I need, he patiently explains 

everything I don’t understand. I never required him to 

be “tough”, and as an experienced man, he carries a lot 

of scars within himself, exactly like the characters I paint. 

How long does it take you to paint something? Does it depend 

on the motivation, or do you simply have it in your 

blood, and you can paint wonders like the one on the side 

here even in the middle of the night? I heard that customers 

might wait a long time for one of your paintings. 

“Motivation is a sudden feeling of inspiration and an urge to 

create something” - following that definition, it’s different 

for me. Of course, as a child I always had the urge to draw. 

It did come suddenly, I painted and drew everything, with 

different methods: people, animals, still life, flowers, architecture, 

etc. It was the worst while in school, during class, 

because drawing completely cut me off from the surroundings, 

always and everywhere. I couldn’t control it. But with 

time, I started to prioritize and build a hierarchy of things 

that are more and less important. I taught myself to analyze, 

to make conscious choices, and take responsibility for such 

choices. Which, in part, let me create a sort of system that 

allows me to verify what I should spend time on painting. 

I carry images in my mind that I look at, I analyze their emotions 

and message. I judge them strictly – do they have 

enough value to show them to the world? If the answer is 

“yes”, I calmly accept the role of a craftswoman that works 

day after day, creating an image of an artist’s mind. And, as 

this craftswoman, I need to sleep at night in order to work 

at day. One painting takes from 4 to 8 weeks, depending 

on the size, the theme, etc. It’s hard to find a compromise 

between the craftswoman and the artist that always 

yearns for perfections, despite lacking perfect work tools. 

And if you got an order from, let’s say, Vatican City, 


35

would you paint a religious picture? Michelangelo 

wouldn’t have been famous if it wasn’t for sacred 

art. And many wonderful artists have been forgotten, 

because they wanted to be faithful to themselves only. 

What’s your viewpoint on compromising between art 

and sponsoring? Would you create to appease a government, 

like for example Majakowski? 

Haha! Certain sources told me, that I already created religious 

paintings. Which, obviously, shocked me slightly, 

because it was never my intention. But I humbly accept interpretations 

of the viewers. But I understand that through 

your question, you meant working as a commission artist, 

and not just religion. I generally try to avoid that. Usually, 

when I let my mind generate visions of what I want to paint, 

the work goes quicker and easier. But I also find time and 

space for a bit of compromise that the other side must agree 

to as well. Though maybe compromise isn’t the right word, 

because in a compromise, both sides sacrifice something, 

and both are unhappy with the result. There’s no place for 

that here. That’s why I would call it certain limits. I state 

what I can agree to within the limits of my painting, and the 

commissioner either agrees or doesn’t. Those are clear and 

fair rules. Limits don’t require anyone to sacrifice anything. 

Would I create to appease authorities? (laughter) For 

me, it’s the individual people who count: art merchants, 

collectors, private initiatives, like the aforementioned 

foundation, who exchange their time and work for my 

images, give me living space, as well as all those people 

who want to hang my works on a wall or come to a gallery 

to see them. It’s those people who deserve my respect 

and every stroke of a brush on my paintings. But 

I can’t even appease them. I create in harmony with 

my own soul. The fact that sometimes I happen to conquer 

their hearts is just a happy bonus coincidence. 

I think it’s more often than just “sometimes”, Maja. 

Thank you for this conversation. 

I thank you as well 

[JP] 

This inter view with Maja Borowicz was conducted by 

Jarosław Prusiński 


Selected exhibitions and awards: 

12.2018 - Exhibition and distinction, The best of the Show - Expo Spectrum Miami, USA; 

05.2018 - Collective exhibition, J. Malczewski Museum in Radom, Poland; 

04.2018 - 1st place in the international Artavita competition, USA; 

12.2017 - Collective exhibition, European Parliament, Brussels, Belgium; 

12.2017 - Palm Art Award 2017 - Certificate of Exellence, Germany; 

09.2017 - “The Last Sparks of Hope” - 1st place in the Futurism category, “Counted time” - 1st place in 

the Surrealism category, American Art Award, “Sensitivity of destiny” - 2nd place in the Male category, 

American Art Award, Hollywood, USA; 

07.2017 - “Counted time” - 3rd place in the “Femininity” international art competition, Toronto, Canada; 

09.2016 - Individual exhibition, Fantasy Festival of the Fortress in Giżycko, Poland; 

06.2016 - Individual exhibition, International Fantasy Festival in Nidzica, Poland; 

05.2016 - “Kuźnia” - 1st place in the international art competition “All scapes”, Toronto, Canada; 

04.2016 – Collective exhibition at the international “Expo Art New York”, USA; 

10.2015 - Distinction, international competition “Mind, Spirit & Emotion II”, USA; 

05.2015 - Collective exhibition at the international “Expo Art Revolution Taipei”, Taiwan; 

04.2014 - 1st place and group exhibition at the international Art Competition Revolution Taipei, Taiwan; 

POST SCRIPTUM 37


O 

Ewa Ćwikła 

riginally from Poland, but from the early eighties living and working in the Netherlands. 

Her earliest experience with photography dates to teenage years when she lived in Poland. 

At the age of 15, the old Zenith camera found in the house allowed her to experimenting during a 

school photographic course. That’s how, slowly, she has developed her vision of photography. 

When Ewa was 22 years old she moved from Poland to the Netherlands, where she 

started working at a photography shop in Schagen. In 1985, after three sleepless nights 

she made a decision to buy shop and photography studio from a local photographer. 

During the following years, Ewa perfected her skills and became an extraordinary 

photographer. In 2014 she ended her commercial activity and focused exclusively 

on work in the studio and the artistic photography. Since 2015, 90% of her photos are 

creative photography, and 10% are portrait orders for individuals. Ewa focuses primarily 

on imaginative work – work in its unique style and its own exceptional atmosphere. 


39


Hello Ewa, I recently discovered your style. I was captivated 

by the climate of your photographs and wanted to 

introduce it to our readers. To start with, please tell us 

where your love for photography came from? And when 

did you start your adventure with artistic photography? 

In 2014 I decided to abandon the commerce 

and stop selling cameras. I closed the shop and said to 

myself “I’m just doing photographs for me.” Now 90% 

of my creations are for me and only 10% are orders for 

clients. And it gives me huge pleasure. I can’t imagine 

working without people, I must contact them every 

day. I would like to be non-stop with people in the studio 

– it’s a feast for me! I really like to do it. I have tons 

of unfinished ideas. I am now reading Leonardo da Vinci’s 

biography, he also had 20 projects started at once. 

Why is portrait the main theme of your work? What 

inspires you, body or soul? 

When I see the model, the main inspiration is their 

look, the appearance. But when I start taking pictures, I deal 

more with the soul. It never happened that I fulfilled exactly 

what I had planned. Unless the model comes for the second 


41

I have been photographing for 25 years, 

but only when I discovered the light of 

Rembrandt and Vermeer 

I began to feel “at home”. 

time, then I already feel their energy. For me, everything is 

done at the level of feelings, not just vision. It is very hard 

sometimes because the models come in different mental 

states... And I feel it. Because of that, there is a close contact 

between the me and the model, and that’s why my portraits 

have a soul. Because this soul is present when these 

pictures are taken. So ultimately, I’m inspired by the soul. 

Your photographs are like 17TH-century paintings by 

the Dutch masters, Vermeer 

and Rembrandt. Does choosing such a style have any 

connection with the fact that you live and create in the 

Netherlands? 

I have been photographing for 25 years, but only 

when I discovered the light of Rembrandt and Vermeer I 

began to feel “at home”. When I look at my photographs 

from the past, from the time perspective I see that it was a 

commercial photograph. I am glad that my clients liked my 

work and were delighted with the pictures, but only now, 

when I stopped the commercial and started creating photographs 

with the light of Rembrandt and Vermeer I feel fully 

satisfied. When I look at the model in my studio I see every 

piece of light, all the details. And it is incredibly beautiful 

to me. The fact that I live in the Netherlands may only have 

the meaning that I have come to the painting of Dutch Masters 

more quickly. But I also dream of taking photographs 

in the style of Jan Matejko. I really want to do it. Recently I 

received a book from Sophie Weiss about paintings of her 

grandfather, Wojciech Weiss. His work is so beautiful! As 

soon as I finish what I am currently working on, I will concentrate 

on Wojciech Weiss’ paintings. So... I do not know 

if living in the Netherlands has an influence on my art. I do 

not know what would have happened if I lived in Poland. 


How long have you been living in the Netherlands? How 

did you come to move there? Does the atmosphere of 

that country, in your opinion, help to create works of 

art? 

I’ve been living in the Netherlands for 33 years… 

a long time. I left Poland in search of a better life. If someone 

told me to do it again, I wouldn’t have, as it was really 

hard. But I’m in the Netherlands and I’m happy here. I 

love this nation. I feel free here and I have a lot of friends. 

But I also feel good when I’m in Poland. I think that the 

work a person creates is not connected to the country of 

residence. The Netherlands surely helped me to be freer 

and more independent. Dutch people are very direct, 

and so am I. That’s how I always was, and it wasn’t well 

received in Poland. Here, that’s normal, and I feel in my 

element here. I can speak my mind, though of course I’m 

still careful to not be impolite and not to hurt anyone. 

Does the atmosphere of this country help in creating 

art? I don’t know. I don’t think it matters. I feel like 

there’s many more wonderful photographers and artists 

in Poland than in the Netherlands. Maybe living here offers 

easier access to some things, maybe the Dutch have 

more spare money to pay for shows and exhibits or buying 

large prints. In Poland, not everyone can afford it. 

But I sometimes think that I would’ve achieved more if I 

stayed in Poland. Overall, I don’t think it matters where 

you live and work. That’s just my opinion, of course. 


43


Do you often organize exhibits of your works? 

I have only started showing my photos in exhibits 

this year, because I thought I didn’t have anything to show. 

So, exhibits are a fresh topic for me. I have exhibited my 

works in Paris, London, and in Poland, of course – in Kraków, 

in the Zofia Weiss gallery, and now in Szczyrk, in the Bator Art 

gallery. I’m currently negotiating with galleries in Warsaw, 

Berlin and Hamburg. So, things are definitely happening on 

that front. I would love to exhibit my works in New York City. 

You’re a master of your field, do you organize any workshops 

or classes for other photographers? 

I would like to thank you very much for calling 

me a master, I don’t feel like one myself. I have always 

thought I still have much to learn. Like every artist, I have 

days when I feel like I can do anything and that I’m great, 

but other-times I can’t escape the feeling that I can’t 

do anything and I’m miserable… But I always hear from 

my photographer friends that they feel the same, so… I 

think that’s a healthy way to think of work (laughter). 

What I have learned, I try to pay forward in my workshops. 

I prefer 1 on 1 workshops, because then I have a good connection 

with the person I’m teaching. I only make an exception 

once a year, when I go to Złodziejewo, a town near Bydgoszcz. 

There’s a beautiful palace there, watched over by 

Marcelina Oczkowska. It’s an ethereal place, I have also attended 

workshops there once, and my sentiment still lives on. 

Where would I go if I wanted to buy one of your pieces? 

You can buy them directly from me. I also have 

agents in Poland, and in the Netherlands. I point them towards 

interested people, and they take care of all necessary 

things.You can also buy my works in the TON gallery in 

the Netherlands. No galleries in Poland sell my works right 

now, but negotiations are ongoing, and it might change in 

the near future. [AB] 

When I see the model, the main 

inspiration is their look, the appearance. 

But when I start taking pictures, 

I deal more with the soul. 

by Agnieszka Biardzka 


45

DAREK MARSZAŁEK 

Graphic designer 

Performer 

Artist painter 

Poet 


Being an artist 

means to be 

yourself, 

to be the 

creator 

of your own 

life 

A graphic designer, an artist painter, a poet, a performer… 

Which one of those roles is the closest to you and why? 

Graphic design (own digital images, and cooperation 

with photo-advertising agencies) is my basic source 

of income at the moment. But my beloved form of artistic 

expression is painting – that’s my life calling. 

Artistic work – what does that mean for you? What 

does it mean to “be an artist”? 

Currently I don’t differentiate between everyday life 

and art. For me, everything is a part of a whole and 

I can say, that I do the art of life. Someone once said: I 

think that everything in life is art. What you do, what 

you wear, the way you speak, write, drink your tea 

and love. How you decorate your home, what you 

surround yourself with and how you feel. Life is Art. 

What does it mean to be an artist? It means 

to be yourself, to be a creator of your own life. 

During your creative process, what’s your inspiration. 

Spiritual experiences, emotional moments, or just mundane 

everyday life? 

My inspiration is limitless imagination and Life as it is, 

along with everything it brings in every moment. I once 

put it in such poetic words: “Touch the stars as you 


47

walk on the earth. May your thoughts, as if colorful butterflies, 

drink the magical dew of the flowers of life”… 

If the above is too broad, I will say that my greatest inspiration 

are people that appear around me: friends, family, 

artists, shamans, yogis, and to be more specific: Martyna, 

the love of my life, Salvador Dali, Alex Grey, or Bob Marley. 

Your artistic action DMTWALKER touched me. I watched 

the movie that recorded the project. It’s very moving 

and dramatic. You, as a living image full of colors, walking 

among hurried, grey people preoccupied with their 

mundane lives. What a stark contrast! 

(Please tell our readers, what caused the idea for such 

a performance to be born, what did you want to say 

through the action, and why DMT?) 

DMTWALKER is a multimedia project, an alchemist crucible 

that combines painting, performance, body art, shaman 

rituals, photography, video and music. It’s somewhat 

of a self-portrait, a tale of passion for life, of love 

for art, and of places that are close to my heart. When I 

prepared myself for this project, some friends suggested 

I set out on a journey far to the East, find the so-called 

“places of pwer”, and record the video there. For me, 

a place of power is where I live everyday. The project 

was realized in the intriguing alleys and main streets 

of Bielsko-Biała, and the opening and closing sequences 

are the landscape around Lipowa, a picturesque village 

near Żywiec, where I was raised until I was eleven. 

More about the project, its message and DMT 

(dimethyltryptamine) can be found in my article: 

http://www.taraka.pl/dmtwalker_bohater_tysiacu_twarzy, 

which I invite everyone to read. 

What is your dream as an artist? 

An artist’s dreams are simultaneously plans for the next 

years: video-project AURATUS (dancing, body-painting, 

and music), painting exhibit in ENTHEON - Sanctuary of 

Visionary Art that is being built by Alex Grey (www.alexgrey.com) 

on his property near New York, and a series 

of visionary paintings GREAT ARKANA & THE HERO’S 

JOURNEY (my own version of the first 22 Tarot cards). 

Thank you very much for this conversation, and I wish 

you everlasting artistic growth. 

For our readers that would like to get to know Darek’s 

works closer, here is a link to his website: 

www.valcari-art.com [AB] 

Agnieszka Biardzka 



49



51

HIMALAYAS 

The HIGHEST Challenge of the World 

Joanna Nordyńska 

sailor traveler film producer 


HIMALAYAS... the highest, 

literally and figuratively, challenge 

for many people. Peaks 

of dreams, peaks of emotions, 

peaks of audacity. For those who 

managed to conquer them - also 

the heights of 

happiness and 

satisfaction. 

My fascination with the mountains began, like for many 

others, in my early childhood, as soon as I learned to 

read. I was raised by my father, who was my greatest authority 

and my guru in many areas of interest, with artistic 

lead of course, as he was an artist himself. He shaped 

my sensitivity to beauty and nature, but also taught me 

humility in the face of fate and the ability to deal mentally 

in difficult situations. I gained the confidence that I could 

deal with any situation, no matter how difficult. Probably 

my father’s great merit in igniting my imagination was 


53

giving me appropriate books, not only about art, but also 

about natural history or historical. There were also a lot of 

books in our house, donated by friendly authors - sailors, 

travellers, mountaineers. Among them were such titles as 

People In Front of the Wall, Repentant Snow and Everyone 

According To Dreams of Andrzej Wilczkowski - mechanical 

engineer, lecturer at Lodz University of Technology, inventor, 

mountaineer and alpinist (among others the expedition 

leader to the mountains of Ethiopia and Hindu Kush) 

and co-founder of the Students’ Satire Theatre Pstrąg, whe 

ich my parents were also engaged with. I remember 

conversations about Wilczkowski’s expeditions 

and other friends from the 

Lodz Mountaineering Club. 

I would add that my parents 

themselves were also people 

with a sports fervour, which inevitably 

passes from generation 

to generation. The amount of 

stories, books read and films 

watched, including articles by 

Jerzy Surdel and Szymon Wdowiak, 

gave a nice conglomerate of 

interests. There was even such 

a moment that under the influence 

of these reports I wanted 

to become an expedition operator 

- a rather irrational dream 

at the time. My father, who 

started his career as an operator 

himself, quickly led me away 

from this idea. In those days it 

was a long and quite uncertain 

path to the goal, especially difficult 

for a woman. I gave up. 

For the lowlander, contact with 

the mountains is usually sporadic, 

so there was no natural 

temptation to hike or to climb 

them up. If we went to the mountains, it was rather for skiing 

holidays in winter. However, once happened that my father 

sent me to the winter camp in the The Kraków-Częstochowa 

Upland [also known as the Polish Jurassic Highland 

– translator’s note] . There “I felt the call.” Children’s imagination, 

as you know, sometimes suggests stupid ideas. 

Once, together with three friends, we slipped away from 

the group, wanting to penetrate the cave in the rock wall. 

We tied together four knitted scarves (they were so fashionable 

at the time), and we used such a set as a safety 

rope. It was a miracle that nothing happened to anyone. 

In addition, a moment later I slid down on a small scree 

and accelerated so dangerously that through the eyes of 

my imagination I saw my miserable end in a stone crack. 

And this time the scarves came in handy. This event was 

so exciting to me that it stuck in my mind for a long time 

as a warning. For many years I watched the mountains 

through someone else’s lens, or from the ski slopes. There 

wasn’t much time for hiking in the mountains, because in 

the summer we usually sailed. I read and watched a lot 

about mountaineering, but I didn’t have enough determination 

to hike. In the end the time has come for it, but I 

won’t climb any of those really high mountains. I have no 

such imperative and I am put off by the need for very good 

preparation, as well as many inconveniences, such as cold. 

The lower parts of the mountains, 

however, are certainly 

still within my reach and willingness. 

My husband and I 

have just returned from the 

Dolomites, where there are 

many mountain routes of varying 

difficulty. We also have 

next plans. Probably Ladakh. 

Returning to the Himalayas ... 

Every year several hundred people 

try their hand at climbing the 

highest mountains of the world. 

So far, the highest 14 peaks 

(ten of them are in the Himalayas), 

were conquered by 

approximately 25,000 people, 

of which only Mount Everest 

– by 5,000. However, since the 

first successful climb in 1953, 

this mountain claimed about 

300 victims. ‘The Mountain of 

Mountains’ attracts more and 

more daredevils, and unfortunately 

there are a lot of people 

in this group who do not really know the limit of their 

skills. Other peaks are also the goal of climbers and their 

climbing ended tragically for many. It is difficult to assess 

whether it is reasonable, if the travel agency ensures you 

that it offers everything that will be needed to reach the 

summit - porters, food, oxygen, medical assistance, etc. 

Obviously, tragic accidents can happen even to the best 

climbers, but the number of accidents is growing rapidly 

among people well prepared. The braver ones get up 

from behind the desk and after paying the appropriate 

amount, they queue up to the climbing adventure. Such 

climbers are practically carried up to the summit (if somehow 

their body can withstand it), and it still counts for a 

successful climb. The mountains are merciless, they de- 


serve the highest respect. It is hard to imagine climbing in 

such difficult conditions whilst sitting in a cosy home. No 

film, nor any photos, will fully capture the power of the 

mountains or the conditions prevailing there. This must 

be experienced personally. If this is a passion developed 

over the years, then you probably go through the subsequent 

levels of initiation and are prepared to face the highest 

mountains, but if not ... then the best method to get 

closer to them is to choose the “level below”, i.e. trekking. 

The most popular route is the transition to the base under 

the Everest. Currently, it is overcrowded by tourists, 

although taking into account the specifics of the Himalayan 

climate (the best trekking seasons are in April and 

October), it is still a fraction of one percent of humanity. 

It is a relatively simple route, requiring nothing more 

than good physical condition, and the only real obstacle 

to health here is altitude. The disease associated with it 

usually manifests itself over 3,500 meters, but some may 

be affected at more than 2,000 m.a.s.l., which in practice 

means that from the beginning of the expedition, because 

the airport in Lukla is located at 2,860 metres above sea 

level. It should be added that the airport itself already, 

to some extent, verifies one’s courage, as it is in the first 

place in the ranking of the most dangerous airports in the 

world due to the location between the mountains and 

a very short runway (only 400m, inclined at an angle of 

12 degrees). There is a bit of exaggeration in my opinion, 

as in bad weather conditions planes simply do not fly. 

What happens then? Well, there are three options. First 

one is to wait, but no one will guarantee that you will get 

on any flight, because all of them are usually fully booked, 

and you hit the end of the queue. The second option – 

to get there by helicopter, which, although the weather 

threshold is slightly higher, and the price also high, and 

the third one – to choose land route, which takes about 

4 days - partly by jeeps, but a large fragment, however, 

would be on foot. If we have already reached our starting 

point, i.e. the beginning of several trekking routes, we 

can collect the last practical advice from returning tourists 

who eagerly share their experience. Loaded with good 

emotions, we set off on the route and after 2 days we 

faced one of the most beautiful mountains in the world 

- Ama Dablam, which in translation from Sanskrit means 

a Mother’s Gem-Necklace, by default the mother of the 

mountains. From that moment we go among the snowy 

mountains, whose charm and power ... well ... one would 

like to say that they are breath taking, but it is responsible 

for the thinner air with altitude rise. The return trip to 

the Base Camp on average takes 14 days, including 2 acclimatization 

days. If we do not want to go back the same 

way, we can make a circle around the Solo Khumbu valley 

by choosing, for example, a route through three passes - 

Kongma La (5535m.a.s.l.), Cho La (5420m.a.s.l.) and Renjo 

La (4790m.a.s.l.), apparently the most spectacular in the 

World, but also quite difficult. Maybe not technically, it’s 

more about endurance. Those who climbed Zawrat - can be 

calm. Three weeks should be allocated for this route, but 

they will undoubtedly be one of the most beautiful weeks 

in life. The route can be completed in both directions. 

However, remember that climbing is only half the battle, 

because going down can be just as difficult. In addition, we 

may be surprised by the “own life” of the mountains, and 

more specifically – the glaciers. If you want to go through 

the glacier, you may be surprised by the creation of a new 

lake, which will prevent you from walking along the chosen 

The mountains are merciless, 

they deserve the highest 

respect 


55

oute, and we will have to make the roads to circle them. 

This happened to us after leaving the Kongma La Pass, 

when we traversed the Khumbu Glacier. The village of Lobuche 

seemed to be at hand. We followed the shortcut, 

but as a result of encountering water and having to return 

to the right trail, we arrived much later than we planned. 

There are also places where you have to be especially 

careful, because ice melting during the day ceases 

to be a binder for stones and they can move or fall. 

This is the case, for example, at the Cho La Pass, where 

you should be getting to quite early during this reason. 

This said, I should like to make a small digression about the 

ascent and descent. Even if we have a small height difference 

to climb during the day, before we get from point A to 

B, we will actually do 2-3 times as much, although our guide 

said it will be almost flat. Then of course, when it seems to us 

that we are already reaching the coveted summit, in a moment 

the next, often even higher one, will appear behind it. 


In the lower parts of the mountains we still have to take 

into account the frequent stops forced by the mule and 

yak cavalcades. Meeting such a laden animal could be very 

painful, so it’s better to get out of their way. The rule is that 

we let them pass “outside” so as not to be knocked down. 

They also have absolute priority on the countless narrow 

hanging bridges. Pressing to the handrail may cause, for 

example, ribs to break. One should also realise the scale 

of this transport. Everything that is needed for life in the 

mountains, except for small crops, is brought by porters 

and animals, or imported by helicopter, which is unfortunately 

very expensive, in addition to the entire inventory of 

all expeditions. In addition, they provide fuel and supplies 

for an increasing number of tourists. TONNES of tourists! 

These three weeks are associated with one more challenge, 

quite serious for some. There are no toilets on 

the route and poor running water supply, not to mention 

hot water. Basically, there is plenty of water around, 

but there is a snag - it freezes. It happens that in shelters 

called English lodges, even the water standing in barrels 

inside the room freezes. One day in the morning I 

reached for my backpack with a drinking water bottle ... 

but I didn’t satisfy my thirst. I looked at the window and 

the beautiful frosted stained-glass windows on the inside. 

One should also appreciate the fortitude of the Sherpas who 

live here, living in extremely difficult conditions, and yet 

nice and smiling. However, this is a topic for a separate story. 

So, going back to hygiene, it’s often limited to wet 

wipes. Now imagine sleeping in a tent and peeing at -40 

° C, and often a gale or snowstorm. The shower is a distant 

dream and falling asleep in such conditions is a feat. 

I really admire everyone who climbs up even higher, 

regardless of whether for the love of the mountains 

and the unrestrained imperative of reaching the 

summit, or for the ignorance and desire to test themselves. 

At this point, I can only invite you to see some 

photos that can arouse the imagination, but, as I mentioned 

earlier, they will never give the impression of 

personal contact with these beautiful mountains. [JP]


57


all the photos were taken by Joanna Nordyńska

Climbing up is only half the 

battle, because going down 

can be just as difficult... 


59

“I don’t demand money for it” 

A conversation with Renata Słomkowska, 

a rockband manager 

How does one become a rockband manager? 


Hmm… I guess you have to be famous 

for being talkative and resourcefulness (laughter). 

For me, that happened a bit differently. In 

October of 2017, I saw an ad saying that a boy 

named Dawid looks for a bass player to create 

a band. I had one bass player “on hand”, 

so I reached out. Very quickly, on the same 

day even, 3 boys came by: Dawid – the vocalists, 

Przemo – the guitarists, and Kamil on the 

drums. That’s how it began (laughter). I interrogated 

them on the way they want to create 

the band, what they want to play, where do 

they get their lyrics, etc. They just wanted to 

play. So I took care of the creation – from the 

band name, through the logo, the repertoire, 

and, of course, lyrics. It wasn’t hard for me, as 

I’ve been writing poetry since forever. That’s 

how Now Me was born. Of course, I’m evil 

(laughter), so I immediately dragged them to 

work. After a month, we played our first concert, 

and it was successful. During the next 

few months, our members came and went, 

since the boys had their own lives that interfered 

with our numerous rehearsals. All 

original members went. The second band 

was created because a friend asked me. He 

wanted to sing works of Niemen. But that’s 

not something our young, Włocławek musicians 

would play. But what was created was 

Heaven Rock, a cover band playing good 

rock songs from bands such as Lady Pank, 

Wanda I Banda, Perfect, Oddział Zamknięty, 

Bajm, or Manaam, which I let out onto 

the market equally quickly. Young people 

play in both bands, and they can be quite 

breath-taking (laughter). Along the way, I 

got a few offers of becoming a manager for 

well-known Polish bands, but it’s not something 

I want to focus on. I find joy in helping 

the young and talented who need the 

help. Sadly, if they don’t find a person that 

Renata Słomkowska

Renata Słomkowska, born in the 70s (second half) in Włocławek, where she 

lives and works today. Her day job is being a pedagogue, psychologist and a 

speech therapist. Music has been accompanying her since childhood – it always 

played in the house somewhere. As a little girl, she started to play the piano, 

and that lasted for quite a while. Then it was the flute, and then the bass. 

Other than music, she explores the widely considered spiritual development. 

pushes them out from the nest and into the world – 

most of them will just keep playing in a garage forever. 

Can one make a living out of it? Is anything in Poland 

that can make you a decent living? 

I don’t think there is. The manager takes 20-30% 

of concert earnings. Aside from disco polo, look at ticket 

prices for well-established bands, such as Kobranocka, 

Sztywny Pal Azji, Proletaryat, and others – and we grew 

up with them. In Poland, artists are not appreciated. 

People think of them as rich, irresponsible youngsters, 

and the reality is often brutal. A rock lover will hesitate 

to pay 50pln for a ticket, but disco polo can charge 

even 200pln. And me? No, this isn’t a way to earn money 

for me. I don’t demand money for it, the important 

thing for me is the satisfaction, that those people have a 

chance to shine. They often argue, and then I joke that I’ll 

charge them once they’re filthy rich rock stars (laughter). 

My line up? 

They’re like family. Both bands are friends and 

spend a lot of time together. As I already mentioned at the 

start, Now We, is a band that plays their own rock. How 

do we do that? The boys come over, set up their instruments 

at my house, and start playing. One comes up with 

a riff, another one catches onto it, then the others, music 

is created. And I write the lyrics. Sometimes we write lyrics 

that are ready for music, and sometimes – as with the bar 

girl or nice boys and naughty girls – I hear the music, the 

riffs, and something lights up within me. I grab a piece of 

paper, a pencil, and write the lyrics as we go, when the 

boys are already playing. Heaven Rock is different. It’s a 

rock cover band. The band doesn’t need much initiative on 

my part, though they like it when I’m with them (laughter). 

The thing that makes me good in manager’s 

shoes is the fact that I know many established musicians 

and bands, and I have communications skills, 

and, fitting for a women – when someone throws 

me out the door, I come back through the keyhole. 

Musician excesses? 

Now that’s a topic we could spend the whole day 

on, and a quite controversial one at that. I could point out 

hundreds of excesses of various bands. But, contrary to 

the popular opinion, they all grow up with age and most of 

those naughty boys become adults, and after the concert 

they come back home to their wives and children. How 

do I find myself in the middle of that? Not at all. It’s not 

fun for me. Maybe it’s my age, maybe it’s self-awareness… 

and a different culture. I respect myself and I don’t dabble 

in such company. Of course, I’m tolerant and if someone 

needs to spend time after a concert in such a way, I understand, 

but I won’t participate. With us, it’s different. 

From the very beginning I make sure that all my proteges 

know that one doesn’t need an excess of substances to 

create and celebrate success. Our rehearsals are always 

alcohol-free: that’s not up for debate, and they know well 

what a drunk concert can bring. I often take them to concerts 

of different bands and they can see the ones where 

the musicians come on stage more or less drunk. You can 

both see and hear it. My musicians are a far distance away 

from that, and I believe that they will carry those lessons 

into the future. After the concert, things are of course 

different. We celebrate, but in moderation – of course 

only the ones above drinking age. We either organize an 

after party at my place or we stay where we played and 

have a smaller circle of people. A nice beer and we talk 

about the concert, what was good, what was botched. 

Right after it happened, while the emotions are present. 

Heh! Just a clarification – they drink their beer, and I 

drink water, because I’m usually the bus driver (laughter). 

My dream? 

Hmm… professional dreams concern the bands, of 

course. I want them to be recognized, to be successful, but 

I would also like them to keep their heads. And privately… 

That’s a tough question. My private life has been non-existent 

for a while. It’s sad, but it is what it is – I’m available for 

communication 24h a day, I take care of band stuff, I organize 

concerts, recording albums, etc. Contacts with other 

industry professionals, most of them men, don’t make pri- 


61

Many 

young musicians 

are fascinated by rockstars’ life 

that they see on TV and online. 


vate life easier, as you well know. Yes, I do dream of something 

stable, a safe harbour. That’s why I’m not taking on 

any new bands. My “children” are already self-reliant, so I 

will be able to leave them soon. To find my safe harbour. 

Hahaha! Tell you something spicy, you say? 

There’s no such thing. I’m as cold as ice and as 

hard as a rock. But seriously, I don’t allow myself to get piquant. 

If someone doesn’t treat me seriously just because 

I’m a woman, and tries something, I quickly bring them 

down to earth. I’m not funny, you see. There’s a story going 

around the net, one that I tell often. When someone asks, 

what does a band manager do, I always answer: organizes 

a concert, grabs the money, and runs off with the frontman’s 

girlfriend (laughter). Of course, most people don’t 

understand, since the story concerns male managers. 

Talent? 

Only selected few have talent. Many young musicians 

are fascinated with the life of rock stars that they see 

on the TV and in the web. They don’t know the reality. They 

grab an instrument, learn to play, create a band and think 

they’ll make it. And some do. Why? You need to know people, 

both the musicians and the manager need to. That’s 

how one-season bands are born. A one-time boom, and 

then silence. I prefer to take it slowly, baby steps, but towards 

a long-term goal. I am well aware that my musicians 

still need a lot of training, coordination, and experience. 

How does my day usually look like? 

They don’t 

know 

the reality. 

It’s usually my day job, and only then I’m the 

“manager”. Although it’s often been the case that I needed 

to take care of something in a hurry, e-mails, phone 

calls. But it’s not bad, contrary to how it looks at first 

glance, I also have a lot of free time. I’m well organized. 

My sons don’t suffer because of it – I think. I take care of 

the music business in-between other tasks. Of course, it 

requires constant contact through a phone or laptop, but 

you can put everything together if you want. Rehearsals 

and lyric writing take up the most time. There, I have to 

be physically present and exclusive. It’s hard to organize 

any private vacations during the concert season too. This 

one was plentiful, I only had a single weekend to catch my 

breath. But now I’m looking forward to a long rest. What’s 

next? Time will show. 

Thank you for the talk. [JP] 

The interview with Renata Słomkowska was performed by 

Jarosław Prusiński. 


63


Maja BOROWICZ, “Ostatni dotyk ostatni szept”

POST SCRIPTUM Eng - October 2019

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