Poetry: Selections from Grzegorz Wróblewski

Dusk

The man I saw at dusk

on the Sound had a repellent color.

He claimed it was this way

he highlights his toxicity.

He knew all poems by Bob Kaufman.

 

The stars lit up ours earthly hiding place,

and he folded his wings vertically

over the body.

It seemed to him

that he is a cabin boy

on the ship Henry Gibbins.

Armageddon

There was nothing unusual about it.

 

Children were playing in the square,

and alcoholics slowly sipped on the benches

cherry vodka from Lidl.

 

Then the sun suddenly changed color.

 

The policeman fired quickly,

what a bullet

hit a nearby tree.

 

And the world suddenly stopped existing.

Tutu

The Earth is the brain.

Sick, crazy brain...

I don't give a damn about worms.

Figuratively/literally.

 

I listen to Miles Davis

and I pretend that I am

liberated

wave.

 

But the TUTU album is quickly released

ends.

And they're burying me again

in the hole.

Grzegorz Wróblewski was born in 1962 in Gdańsk and grew up in Warsaw. Since 1985 he has been living in Copenhagen. English translations of his work are available in Our Flying Objects (trans. Joel Leonard Katz, Rod Mengham, Malcolm Sinclair, Adam Zdrodowski, Equipage, 2007), A Marzipan Factory (trans. Adam Zdrodowski, Otoliths, 2010), Kopenhaga (trans. Piotr Gwiazda, Zephyr Press, 2013), Let's Go Back to the Mainland (trans. Agnieszka Pokojska, Červená Barva Press, 2014), Zero Visibility (trans. Piotr Gwiazda, Phoneme Media, 2017), Dear Beloved Humans (trans. Piotr Gwiazda, Lavender/Dialogos Books, 2023) Asemic writing book Shanty Town (Post-Asemic Press, 2022).