new poems

by Tadeusz Rozewicz

  in other words grandma and daughter”

  our ladies don’t cut

  anything off then sew it

  back on again maybe that’s why

  they find

  so many husbands

  in the Federal Republic of Germany

  in Australia Africa America

  and various emirates

  maybe that’s how Madame Walewska

  and Princess Łowicka

  along with Marquis Wielopolski

  influenced the shape of the Duchy of Warsaw

  and the Congress Kingdom

  On Fat Thursday

  I also heard on the radio

  that Osama bin Laden

  is very thin

  and is six feet tall

  that by mistake

  in Afghanistan the Americans bombed

  British soldiers and a wedding party

  and a Chinese restaurant in Belgrade

  I’m worried that as part of their

  maneuvers they might bomb

  the caves in Ojców

  led by false information

  that it’s the hiding place

  of King Władysław the Short

  about whom the see eye eh and eff bee eye

  have been wrongly informed

  (by Polish counterintelligence)

  that he is only three

  feet (tall) lentils are ground

  by the mill near the mound

  of Krakus and Wanda

  I’m overcome with lenten

  and unlenten thoughts

  that Fat Thursday is followed

  by Lean Friday

  and lean backsides are followed

  by men’s eyes

  yet

  will we find

  a remedy for this

  before the end of history?!

  because

  it turns out that between

  a chimpanzee and

  a

  hyu-

  man

  there’s only 1.02%

  genetic difference

  wow! wau?

  I rub my eyes

  I wake in the morning

  in some jailhouse

  without bars

  where am I I ask

  just where am I

  I spot a newspaper on a hook

  I see from the language

  that it’s a Polish paper

  our Poland

  still unsold

  not yet in the hands of Fortinbras

  the Norwegian lord

  I rub my eyes

  where am I

  just where am I

  I see bars everywhere

  this world

  is out of shape

  someone whispers to me

  that it’s the kingdom of Denmark

  but from the heavens I hear

  a song by Moniuszko

  Jontek’s aria

  for bread good sir for bread

  so it’s not Denmark

  I’m in Poland

  on Promień Street

  thank the Lord!

  and where’s Napoleon?

  Napoleon is with us!

  and Chirac? Chirac’s without us

  in St. Petersburg

  maybe he’ll meet Telimena there

  Master Tadeusz Ryvin Robak

  Telimena will explain it all to him

  the good Frenchman

  was bathed in tears

  at the pillory in the Wrocław market square

  by the fountain

  his hands kissed

  by Polish matrons

  perhaps he’ll forgive us

  eat bigos and truffles

  wash down his snails with Bison Brand vodka

  and his lapin with Chopin

  or Polish moonshine

  at the world’s fair

  I wake up there are bars again

  I rub my eyes

  this world is out of shape

  you’re at home

  you’re in your home

  in Poland

  that is to say nowhere

  King Ubu

  growls at me

  his back turned

  so this isn’t Denmark

  I pull the bars aside! I see a bosom

  the bosom of Emilia Plater

  and that of Sofia Loren what’s she doing

  here? advertising noodles

  pizza and spaghetti the enchanting

  Neapolitanness

  she’s not the only one promoting us

  the great Sam Domingo

  will sing to us

  out of the goodness of his heart

  he won’t take a penny

  so once again we are

  the inspiration of Europe of the World

  I hear the flutter of hussars’ wings

  it’s our painted uhlans

  flying off to Babylon

  and the storks? our storks

  have also flown away scared off

  by Dutch women what about the nightingales?

  though the nightingales have been disturbed

  they’ve remained in the Homeland!

  so it’s not Holland!

  I’m in Poland in Wrocław

  in Biskupin on my good

  old sofa

  I wake in surprise

  so we’re a kingdom again?

  yes yes

  the kingdom of two nations!

  but the Lithuanians won’t have us

  Jagiełło’s been declared a traitor

  they worship Mendog

  so what? Landsbergis loves us

  plays the piano in the Polish

  parliament

  a fine Lithuanian even though

  he’s a nationalist

  and Klaus? he sort of looks askance

  then what of the Triangle? the Vyšehrad one

  it’s missing an angle

  thank the lord

  we have the Weimar triangle

  in reserve

  our admiral was given

  a warship (admiral?

  was that Father Jankowski?

  why does a priest need a warship

  with no cannon no anchor no purpose)

  in our department there was

  a kind old woman the one

  in the miniskirt with the rose pinned to her breast

  a big fan of Bronek

  when she spoke about Poland

  she was in seventh heaven

  The Russian tsar is back in Petersburg

  a hero

  bloody Nikolai

  the martyr

  the Prussian king

  Frederick the Great

  has also returned

  to his plinth in Berlin

  the Bulgarian king is back

  the Romanian king

  the prince of Paris

  and also our good emperor

  and apostolic lord

  of Kraków of Austria

  of the Czechs (once again

  of Kraków!)

  so this isn’t Denmark?

  I’m in Poland

  thank the Lord!

  mini universe

  the TV host in her

  miniskirt crosses her legs

  (pity it’s not behind her neck)

  tosses back her (dandruff-free) hair

  pulls down her maxi mini

  aligns her knees

  her feet

  un-decidedly

  as befits

  a well-mannered “feminist”

  and starts to speak

  “congratulations gentlemen

  that’s fabulous!

  you yourselves

  Polish astronomers

  not just Engel and Boniek

  and Copernicus

  that’s so cool!

  so professor are you trying

  to tell me . . . get outta here . . .

  that this spherical system

  has fifteen billion

  stars sorry

 
spherical monads

  let me ask which of you

  gentlemen first got the idea”

  The astronomer

  with the beard opens his mouth

  to say something about a black hole

  but the “moderator” doesn’t let him (speak)

  it’s such a neat idea

  it gives me goosebumps

  like Telimena in Master Tadeusz

  professor you say it was an American

  how do you explain the fact

  that among astronomers there are so few

  ladies

  and so many Americans . . .

  (laughter)

  and are you professor

  going to discover something new

  in the superhole

  maybe something metaphysical

  tiny

  that seems like nothing at all

  and how did it all begin

  well I have to disappoint you

  the great explosion is just

  an idea

  whether it was an explosion or an act

  of creation

  we don’t know

  in that case professor let’s come back down

  to earth

  among astronomers

  is there a lot of rivalry

  competition for titles awards

  money

  do astronomers have any

  purely human foibles

  why do women

  so rarely look

  through telescopes

  is this a “male” profession

  is there not something

  we could call feminine astronomy

  is antimatter

  less interesting

  to women

  than conception

  does a tiny something not

  appear in the sky

  ma’am!

  present-day astronomers don’t

  see the sky! they’re very busy

  in modern astronomy

  there’s no time to gaze

  at the stars

  astronomy is not poetry

  but teleology

  what’s needed is money

  lots of money

  for small amounts of money

  you can see something

  through a keyhole

  in a word professor

  it’s all about money money

  on the far side of the black hole

  money’s still what counts

  you’re terrifying me professor

  professor I’m a woman

  does an astronomer regard

  sex

  with an astronomical eye

  or is he

  just a regular macho man

  who likes those things

  I wish you all the stars in the sky

  bye now

  next week we’ll be talking

  about

  genetics

  and memetics

  please join us for our

  poetry club

  it could be said that never

  before have Polish astronomers

  discovered so many planets

  a veritable avalanche of planets comets

  soon every Pole may have

  his own planet

  and the telescope will take its place

  alongside the skis and the paintbox

  ma’am

  it’s not so simple

  a planet discovered last Tuesday

  is five thousand

  light years away

  I find that hard to believe professor

  surely you’re joking!

  yes yes

  ma’am

  competition in space

  gossip in astronomy

  and also relief and joy that we . . .

  I’ll keep my fingers crossed professor!

  [January 2003]

  the wheels are going round

  yesterday between apocalypse and idyll

  I heard across the ether

  that the greenhouse effect

  is caused

  not only by the automobile industry

  but also by cowpats

  which release large amounts

  of gas into the atmosphere

  and so scientists are working on

  a vaccine to prevent gas in cows

  (while we are reminded in the process that

  the number of cattle far exceeds

  the needs of the human population)

  I started thinking (the wheels are going round)

  about the pats produced

  by six billion people (more or less)

  I came up with an idea for a virtual

  worldwide global bank of gases

  One could begin with the Bloating Foundation

  “Prometheus-Gas” known for short as “Crapoco”

  a gas pipeline

  bypassing Russian Norway Iraq and the Tatra Mountain

  National Park (as well as Southern Park in Wrocław

  where they’re putting up a statue of Chopin)

  as a side product the anti-gas vaccine

  could be marketed to retirees

  and politicians

  whose number far

  exceeds the needs

  of the country

  Salvador Dalí

  wrote years ago in a prophetic

  rapture

  “I had an aunt whom any kind

  of scatology filled with disgust.

  At the very idea that she might fart,

  her eyes would fill with tears.

  She was immensely proud that

  she had never farted in her life . . .”

  a vaccine against wind

  will also take away

  the raison d’être of various

  Zoiluses who

  are able to turn farts

  into thunder (as they say in German

  vom Furz ein Donner machen)

  the wheels are going round

  our gas

  pipeline will bypass Kaliningrad

  the statue of Kant Alaska Siberia

  Belarus and Kraków

  it will take into consideration

  the strategic significance

  of the Opole music festival

  the wheels are going round, see?

  I’m wasted here after all

  it’s high time

  speech conversation dialogue

  Humans have the gift of speech

  This distinguishes people from animals

  driver: “get the fuck

  out of the car”

  passenger: “you have no right”

  driver: “in my cab

  I got every right”

  this dialogue concluded at the intersection

  of Jana Pawła II

  and Anielewicza Streets

  cab drivers beat up a lady

  professor from a western university

  and boxed the ears

  of a theater critic

  the mayor of this Paris of the North

  promised a thorough inquiry

  three erotics

  someone praised you sir

  for a short and piquant erotic

  I read it with interest

  “Polyxena takes off her panties”

  bring me heavier armor

  I thought and wrote

  two Gothic-Baroque erotics

  “Petronella pulled on her panties”

  “Greta Garbo steps out with no panties”

  perhaps they’ll make you smile

  . . .

  I was born a rhinoceros

  with thick skin and a horn on my nose

  I wanted to become a butterfly

  but I was told

  I have to be a rhinoceros

  then I wanted to be

  a songbird a stork

  but I was told it wasn’t possible

  I asked why–the answer was

  because you’re a rhinoceros

  I wanted to be a
monkey

  even a parrot!

  but I was told . . . NO

  I dreamt I had

  soft pink skin

  and a tiny nose like Cleopatra

  but I was reminded that

  I have really really thick skin

  and that my horn is a mark of my identity

  you were are and will be a rhinoceros

  till the day you die

  rhinoceros

  my name is Tony

  I’m a white rhino

  I’ve never seen my homeland

  of South Africa

  my mother is called Tessa

  I was born in a zoo

  in a European capital

  I was an only child

  I never played with other little

  rhinos

  I was brought up behind heavy bars

  with my mama I don’t remember my daddy

  mama told me that right after

  their wedding night

  daddy went back home to his city

  supposedly his name was Diogenes

  My name is Tony when

  I was little I wanted to be

  a butterfly but I was

  told I was born a rhino

  and have to be a rhino

  I wanted to become a sparrow

  because sparrows could fly

  in and out of our cage they were free

  they chirruped merrily so I wanted