Bogumil Pacak-Gamalski
My previous post In Polish dealt with my panic, after I realized that I have lost two days. Can you imagine the truly cosmic consequences for the future if two days were really lost?! Entire galaxies might have never been formed, civilizations not born.
But that was not as tragic (or comic) the other day, when I realized I have lost a poem. My own, and one I was certain I have written. I have checked all my notebooks – there is unfortunately a big array of them lying on the tables, on bookshelves, in drawers. Hardly ever my poems are being written originally on a computer or typewriter (yes, I am old and used to have and used typewriters, the first one was not even electric, LOL). But the poem was nowhere to be found.
I was certain that I wrote it yesterday while being on a rocky beach in South Surrey. It was low tide in the massive Mud Bay. That water retreated quite a bit and exposed very shallow patches full of little life creatures in it, as in any healthy sea.
I was sitting there sun tanning and observing absolutely crazy dance-ritual of eagles helping themselves to this amazing sea buffet. That observation led me to writing right there a poem about the eagles, therefore it means that I had with me one of my notebooks. Another peculiarity of mine is always adding a date of my writing. The date connects it to indexing it, but – for myself anyway – opens an emotional connection within me with particular time of my life, particular place. Hence, when I rummaged through my notebooks I didn’t bother reading the text; instead I simply quickly glanced for the date ‘June 08, 2025’. And there wasn’t anything with that date in recent entries. Zilch, zero. The last entry in a notebook I suspect the most, had a date ‘June 08, 2024’. Yes, it even mentioned the place ‘Crescent Beach’. You would think I would realize that obvious mistake, since in 2024 I couldn’t have possibly be on Crescent Beach in Britsh Columbia. In June 2024 I was still in Halifax in Nova Scotia! Right? No, wrong! You see, there is one of the most beautiful beaches in Canada only an hour drive from Halifax toward Sambro. It is without a doubt a gem of unparallel beauty, a marvel. It is called … Crystal Crescent Beach, LOL. I have simply not registered one world ‘Crystal’ and it created the entire confusion. In exasperation I was left with no choice but to read the actual text under the date. Yes, it was my poem about the eagles from Crescent Beach in South Surrey. For some reasons, when I was writing down the date, I wrote 2024 instead 2025.
A partial return to sanity was possible. And a poem was found, as you can see below.
Eagle’s joy
The eagles are dancing,
they are dancing with joy,
with abundance of life.
Shallow waters before the tide,
brings Pandora’s box of snacks:
morsels worth the king tables;
the powerful emperors of skies.
Dance! I won’t disturb your joy,
I’m just a scribe to chronicle
your royal entourage, vivante royal,
above us, mere earthlings and scribes.
What do you see, when you look down
per chance at us, o Mighty Skywalker?
Eagles thought for a moment and answered:
We see you all like silvery fish thrown by wave
on the rocky beach. Your pink skin blinking
as a stardust, your eyes wide open and gills
quivering rapidly like leaves in the wind.
Trying to live a day longer, perhaps a season.
Having received their answer, I gathered
my belongings from the beach: folding chair,
towel, sunscreen, my notebook and sunglasses.
With my backpack full, I began heading home.
Two young naked boys under blue umbrella
were just finishing their picnic. Like a scene
from summery watercolour in a tiny gallery
somewhere in Dover on an English Channel.
Maybe it was Hastings, or Brighton, who knows?
The boys waved to me (from the watercolour?)
and yelled: finished already? Stay! It’s still early.
I laughed at them: No, darlings, I’m done.
But you are not. Enjoy and savor every second of it
A pair of eagles circled above my head approvingly.
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