I as the being sui generis; Flash Fiction by Paweł Markiewicz
I as the being sui generis
By Paweł Markiewicz
I have just returned from a walk with my beloved hound on foot, which has a good heart, tenderly shaped by the Erlking’s dog’s heartlet. I’m feeling very well at home, as well as blissfully. I have a light heart now. It’s frosty outside, to wit it is three degrees below zero. The Winter Queen rules without any snow.
There is not a starry night. A moon is not visible. I dream of starlings, of philosophers on sibyl-like heaven. I have not seen a red sky in the evening, such an Apollonianly marvelous charm, a weird of druids. All night long my dreams will be living in my dreamy soul. Afterwards I will sleep in a meek silence. I want to say to you, my tender reader, a manifesto of my dearest dreamiest being.
As far as I’m concerned:
My immortal soul is... what shall I say. I am able to feel a sempiternity, each poetical winglings, namely: Apollonianly tender-eternal vans that philosophize about the dawning ontology of poetries. Nascent dreamery of Poseidon, fulfillment of each star, morning and shooting. Rilke likes me in the eternal time. Goethe said he could be proud of my meek poem, under the title: >Prometheus<.
In effect my body is Polish. I can indeed design neither robots nor spaceships such as the Americans. My parents, my home, my language are Polish. My Polish blood seems to be indeed red. My nation knows: mourning and death, wars and subservience. This time is my Polish time, the ontology and logic of starry nights above the polish homeland.
In my heart the Japanese Bashō lives who likes the melancholic fantasy of a handful of haiku. My heart beats in a rhythm of dancing samurais. My haiku are being carried by some metaphysical traces of the eternity which loves my gorgeous three verses. In each haiku the beauty of sirens-like dreamery-miracles— comes true, as if the Japanese soul had told me: Be thankful, valedictorian of a sheening time!
Outside the body, magical romantic notions, keep me one step closer to heaven. Some Herculean muses bring me into: a woodland in the midst of England, next to a druidical fireplace. The druidic altar is also my heart, my whole being of the sui generis-miracle. English muses dancing under the most philosophical stars such my English hound, the mixed dog, between cocker spaniel and field spaniel, my houndlet, hunting and dreaming.
Paweł Markiewicz is a Polish poet and a participant at Forum Alpbach, a village of thinkers in Austria. He lives and writes in Bielsk, Poland.