Blog 03.2025 [ powrót/back ]
27.03.2025 Gdańsk
Gmua.
25.03.2025 Gdańsk
Budowa hotelu Renaissance znanej sieci. Opuszczone spichlerze Wielki i Mały Groddeck wracają do życia. Galeria
25.03.2025
Mój nowy tekst, który w założeniu od początku miał być piosenką. Banalny? Nie boję się tego. Takie było zalożenie :) Delikatna inspiracja filmowa. Dwie wersje.
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Expedition
Oaa Oee Oee
A cheerful song can be heard
Oaa Oee Oee
Louder than the cries of seagulls
Today we set off into the unknown
To catch the wind at dawn
To discover forgotten lands
To stand on warm sand again
Oaa Oee Oee
Adventure is calling us
Oaa Oee Oee
The time has come for a journey
At night the stars lead us
A ray of sunshine wakes us up every day
When love is our power
We will find good people
Oaa Oee Oee
Forward to new days
Oaa Oee Oee
Where is our family home
We cut the waves in our boat
The sun's heat warms the deck
Tomorrow we will sail further
Having faith and hope
Oaa Oee Oee
Sing with all your breath
Oaa Oee Oee
Maybe we will come back here
23.03.2025
Mój stary wiersz z czasów fejsbukowych 'Na powitanie' stał się dziś piosenką.
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21.03.2025
Mój stary wiersz 'Linia' stał się dziś piosenką. Dwie wersje. To takie proste ;)
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Line
a part of my dream today
I put it aside for later
now I observe a thin line of light
on the edges of your
still
moist
lips
I know that tomorrow morning it will disappear
along with you
but then there will be no time for sleep.
21.03.2025
Mój nowy tekst. Tzw 'bieżączka' i protest-song. To są Proszę Państwa jakieś jaja! (obmywane od dołu przez fale..)
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17.03.2025 Gdańsk
Śnieży i wieje.
12.03.2025 Gdańsk
Uruchamiają sygnalizację świetlną na rogu ul. Lilli Wenedy i Hallera. Uda się za pierwszym podejściem?
11.03.2025 Gdańsk
Zamówiłem książkę o rozgłośni, która działała na terenie strajkującej Stoczni Gdańskiej. Zgłoszę sie po autograf do jednego z jej bohaterów..
09.03.2025
'Ze wspomnień staruszka' Andrzeja Waligórskiego (cover). Klasyka w nowej odsłonie.
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From the memories of an old man
It is not true what is said in various poems,
What has often been said in novels and songs,
That the best is usually the first love...
I prefer my forty-eighth love.
Because at the forty-eighth
One has the whole range of the most sincere joy,
Especially since one is already eighteen years old
And that one is already more mature than at the first.
First love... then one talks about flowers
And leads one's girl to the flowers...
First love, at twelve frail years old,
That is not it, gentlemen, not yet.
It is not worth listening to this and getting sentimental,
Besides, it is difficult to reach such a far distance with memory...
I prefer my six hundred and fourth love,
Experienced at the age of twenty-five.
What a woman she was, gentlemen,
What a face, gentlemen, what a pose...
Or love one thousand six hundred and eighteen:
She was a bomb, her husband a ninny, and I a badass!
I turned forty next to her,
I saw my first gray hair looking in the mirror,
But that was, gentlemen, still a nothing
Compared to three thousand two hundred and sixth!
How many legs, breasts, arms she had,
What a tasty amateur morsel she was!
What a morsel! A donut, a spinning top and a bunny,
And a strapless shirt...
[telephone ringing]
Here's Sokorski!
07.03.2025 Gdańsk
Remont części starej przychodni. Lekarze przyjmują w kontenerach. Wyrzucone na plac stare masywne drzwi świadczą, że w piwnicy był schron. Podejrzewałem że tam jest, ale nigdy tam nie byłem.
05.03.2025 Gdańsk
...
05.03.2025 Gdańsk
Pewnie niewiele osób wie co jest pod tą estakadą... A jest tam złomowiec (albo i dwa) i parking oraz.. miejsce noclegowe dla dwóch lokalnych kloszardów ;)
03.03.2025 Gdańsk
Opóźnione, ale stawiają...
02.03.2025
'Uśmiech Giocondy' Andrzeja Waligórskiego (cover). Klasyka w nowej odsłonie.
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Gioconda's smile
Francesco del Gioconde, leaning back haughtily
On an armchair carved with leaves and tritons,
Watched with disapproval as Master Leonardo
Worked on a portrait of his young wife.
The heat was out of this world; the wind had fallen asleep among the ivy,
The servants were sleeping in a row in a nearby vineyard,
Mona Lisa's cheeks were shining with fat,
And to cool down she held her legs in a basin.
Leonardo was drowsily dabbing paint on the canvas,
While the model's husband, in the voice of an old tomcat,
Purred: - Please, Lisa, don't stare so sadly,
Because it won't be a portrait, but a caricature!
Here, to make her laugh, he played a few tricks,
He told her a bawdy tale about a princess,
He tickled her leg, saying: - A gli-gli-gli!
He looked at his wife again, and she yawned!
And the painter was carried away by such a passion of a dog
And he felt so much desperate power within himself,
That he very tactlessly shouted to Francesca:
- She's yawning! The master probably didn't let her sleep at night!
Having heard this, Liza remembered the bed
And royal majesty of her husband,
Especially when he puts on a nightgown and a nightcap,
And that he is twenty years older than her,
And how he pant and groan before he finally falls asleep,
And it all made her laugh so cruelly,
That a mysterious smile appeared on her face...
...and that smile remained on the canvas forever!!!
02.03.2025
'Pierwsza teczka' Andrzeja Waligórskiego (cover). Klasyka w nowej odsłonie.
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First briefcase
Now that's a story, I beg you,
Important news is spreading from mouth to mouth.
Little Dreptak today for the first time,
Carries a briefcase to a girl.
Up until now he'd been pulling her by her pigtails,
And he'd rather sit by the river,
And look, she's walking down the sidewalk,
And Dreptaczek behind her with a big briefcase.
And something in Dreptaczek's heart sings,
And he'd go to the end of the world anyway.
Little Dreptak is clearly maturing
The mayor says to the lawyer.
Here comes Dreptaczek with red ears,
He's got happiness in his soul, a patch on his trousers,
He's a little ashamed in front of his friends,
He's a little afraid to meet his dad.
But dad saw everything anyway,
He was out for a beer, he looked and was surprised.
Some little baby is walking down the sidewalk,
And right behind her Dreptaczek like a penguin.
Dad even got a little moved,
He said hoarsely: Pour me another one!
Because he remembered his first briefcase,
Then his first trip and so on.
He even looked out for them on the promenade,
But they were already disappearing around the corner.
That girl and that little Dreptak
Walking with a briefcase after the girl.
02.03.2025
'Kundle i pudle' Andrzeja Waligórskiego (cover). Klasyka w nowej odsłonie.
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Mongrels and poodles
Morning quarrels can be heard from the windows,
People go out into the street,
A festering mongrel, with one eye
Looks lasciviously at the poodle.
The poodle, a highly desirable morsel,
A studied specimen of grace,
Represents the pinnacle of its breed,
And the pinnacle of its canine degeneration,
On the other hand, the mongrel - as mongrel is,
Mangled in some scuffle,
It's flea-ridden, skinny, dirty,
But you can see right away - the guy's a bomb!
He seems bored, he seems to yawn,
But he acts - stage after stage,
For now he's insults trees
Raising his hind leg at them,
The poodle shakes her graceful behind,
Carries her trimmed head high,
And the mongrel - you'd say by accident
Sails towards her on the beam.
He's a real player, good heavens!
The whole thing happened in a second:
He nudged her with his nose where it was needed,
He growled something - probably "come on, little one!"
Then - a libertine and a wicked person,
A filthy contrast of a beautiful child
He led the unfortunate one around the corner
Where the good lady can no longer see...
...and the lady is standing in the window,
She is not angry yet, she is not sad,
She does not worry about her dog,
Because the dog will probably come back soon...
I know a beautiful lady, she is a lawyer,
My buddy used to be in love with her,
She combs her hair a bit like a poodle...
Good day... I am an old mongrel!
01.03.2025
'Recepta' Andrzeja Waligórskiego (cover). Klasyka w nowej odsłonie.
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Recipe
Writing poems is easy,
You can write a poem right away
All you need is coffee, a fair amount of light,
Some typewriter, paper and a topic.
Actually, the topic is the most important
Without it, a person toils for nothing
It can be heavier, it can be lighter,
As long as it concerns people.
When there is a topic - we look for a form
Should the poem be thinner or thicker,
The poem must adhere to a certain standard
Which was established by someone not the stupidest.
Rej followed it, as did Frycz-Modrzewski,
And Falski, writing first primer,
And Gałczyński, as well as Broniewski,
Słonimski, Herbert, Miłosz and Ważyk.
This method may be out of fashion,
Maybe appropriate for respectable aunts,
But as comfortable as old shoes
It is good to walk down the stairs of stanzas in it.
Besides, the limit is not in the form,
And an expert - he won't buy a pig in a poke.
A classic poem can be fresh,
Avant-garde - weak and stupid,
And vice versa, that is, the opposite,
You can read classics with horror....
....and in general - it's strange with a poem,
Because you can do the same thing in prose....
A man suffers, counts syllables,
The house is neglected, his wife leaves him,
And another says to his old lady:
- Old lady, give me dinner, the novel is finished!
I'm no artist,
More like a craftsman, but sometimes
I sense an unclean force in a poem
That makes me write in poems.
I'll write, sell it, spend a penny in a shop,
I'll get up to work again the next day...
A graphomaniac has it much better
He can write for free.