Maciej Orłowski was plunged into a startling void when moved from Stockholm to Iceland. In writing derived from his frantic notes, scrapbooks and poetry, he here delivers an idiosyncratic depiction of sparseness in prose trained by the exhaustive city.
Stockholm metro system was opened in 1950. Previously hidden under street level, tram lines carried a thousand silhouettes, anonymous breaths, hopes of busy souls, and transported them between islands, peninsulas, squares and meeting places. A living network. A sign of postindustrial development. Indeed, the Slussen - Hökarängen was transformed quickly into the first metro line.
The transcendent melody of lyric lines often visit my ears when I am travelling underground. The listening process launches rapidly. Environment gives a signal to investigate the insights of my current mood. Sweaty fingers touch pages of an anthology. Present awaits the challenges of future. What occurrences should I face to reach my planned destination? Darkness next. We sit/ like statues in the cars/ hauled into the tunnels./ Strain, dreams, strain.- Thomas Tranströmer in "Journey" noticed the human mixture of Sweden's capital's underground system. A few months later the dynamics of words lead me 2113 km from Stockholm to confront with a symphony of nature, people and economy.
Iceland. Glaciers, mountains, inflation, fishery, banks, tiny horses and eccentric regional cuisine cooperates with the historical beauty of a Viking domicile. Through the geometrical madness of Harpa Music Centre, the attacking smell of the harbour, cozy coffeehouses, flea markets, Reykjavík served a picturesque and breathtaking landscape. I tune all of my senses. Just quickly look to the sky. The natural fresco starts a spectacle known from the ages. The solar wind attacks the magnetosphere. Colour dances. Drop by drop the cascades of green and yellow fall down on the capital area. Silence broken by scratch of approval's deep-drawn sigh. The lightning shower covers all my worries. There is no administration at the moment. The post bureaucratic happiness of aurora borealis stimulate the jumping impulses between synapses. Cognitive circus sends a message to proactive center. The strategic imperative to act empowers interactions levitating on the way between paper, pen and hand.
"Just look above
reject the reality
in moment of green rays concert
tremolo, forte, overture
of hope constantly covers
my unexpected steps
in the purple shadows curtain"
Road. Stones. Volcanic rocks tell a story. Waves crash on a coast and produce ear-catching splashes. Me and travelmates in a jeep on the way to see the black sand beach in Vík í Mýrdal. Southern Iceland protects the secrets and mysterious stories from the beginning of Earth's history. Human and environment. Two overlapping forces, a continuous battle of interests, power struggle on the highest level performs a play of postures. “Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road.” comments Jack Kerouac. The broadcast from private outer space interrupts suddenly the lyrical vacuum:
"Portable platforms depict
every lonely object
in the system of cooperating
breath - mind - soul
Like a pilgrim on a
path to innocence...".
Inspiration may have come from the view of lighting mountain tops on the road back. The sunset. Radio on. Speakers introduce songs. Later I am entitled to include "Planetarium (I move around as a centre of cosmos)" on a list of finished writings.