by Marcin Malek
Poets
in literal meaning
are not responsive
to normative rules of dying
moreover
just like the Saints
they do not fit into a
written conventions
of the existence
of the survival
at all costs
at the cost of their own greatness
they rather resemble
orphaned fortresses
which has to be taken
meter by meter - as in the past
with the severe blood loss
or permanently straining
among the yellow fields
mossy towers with no vaults
but with the ever-vigilant gaze
poet as gaper
windblown
caressed by storms
until he not falls
never measures
himself as the one
and then all fading behind
for life and death of a Poet
there is no proper time
he lives in himself
stirring up higher and higher
by the abandoned fortification
of horror of consequences
to the moment in which
he is taken - far far away
- In memory of
Saemus Heaney
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Marcin Malek (born February 24, 1975) in Warsaw, Poland) is a Polish/Irish poet, writer, playwright, journalist, photographer. Published in: „Fronda”, „Tygiel Kultury”, „Akcent”, „Nowe Państwo”, „Stosunki Międzynarodowe”, „Opcja na prawo”, Leinster Express, Winner of the annual award of "Poetry&Paratheatre" journal (category: poem of the Year) for year 2012, (work: „Bieg – Czyli list do współczesnych”/"Run - a letter to the present"). Since 2006 lives in Ireland.
Last updated October 02, 2015