Category: English

Part II of things lost, but found later

Part II of things lost, but found later

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.

Mikhail Voskresensky – concert in Vancouver

Mikhail Voskresensky – concert in Vancouver

Bogumil Pacak-Gamalski

Mikhail Voskrsensky played on May 30th at the Christ Church Cathedral in Vancouver. The venerable venue has seen many wonderful concerts and pianists over the years from all over the globe.

I have seen and listen myself to quite a few there. That was a particularly important one. Voskresensky is a pianist and musical pedagogue of particular pedigree – form the old and venerable shelf of top Russian musical tradition and school of playing. That school and tradition brought an amazing array of composers and performers that graced the world stages in the past two hundred years. The Tsars are gone, the Bolsheviks are gone – but the music survived, did not perished.

Voskresensky himself was a guardian of that tradition for many years, being not only a graduate of Moscow’s Conservatory but, at the end, a Chair of the Piano department there, himself being a student of no one other that Lev Oborin – Laureate of the very first International Piano Chopin Competition in Warsaw, Poland – undisputable top piano competition in the world. That school of playing is characterized by soft and very melodic flow of notes. Could I say: romantic, Slavic, like the blades of grass on Ukrainian steppes … .  But don’t be surprised if you hear a thunder from the distance.

That past and a bit of history is important because of a very poignant present circumstances of the pianist. After the Russian invasion of Ukraine, Voskresensky decided to flee Russia, his homeland. To flee as form of protest against the brutality of this war and of Russia being the aggressor. Knowing that Putin’s Russia very much resembles Stalin’s way of strict control and protests against the government are met with harsh penalties.

Iko Bylicki z autorem

               And now he is here, playing in Vancouver. Vancouver Chopin Society, by the gracious actions of their main architects, Iko Bylicki and Patrick May gave me the privilege to enter the empty nave of the Cathedral and listen to Voskresenski’s rehearsal, take pictures as many as I want. Of course – thank you gentlemen.

The sounds and the bars, nothing else, not even using the pedals of the piano. Pure music dictated by the natural length of the sound and controlled by pressing another key. Right away I am taken by immense attachment to the musicality by stressing the melody of the phrases.

Naturally, it is only rehearsal, warming up. An attempt to get to know the particular instrument (and it is my personal favored – the beautiful Steinway). it’s acoustics, and finally the warming up and physical exercise of your fingers – they will do a lot of heavy lifting later. I am always admiring the physical strength of pianists and feel sorry for their swollen finger joints after a concert …

The moment comes that Voskresenski leaves the piano and disappears before the formal concert.. The main doors are opened and the seats are slowly filling up. But I already know that they are for a very pleasurable evening.  Not a show, not only bravado and lot’s of musical delights and deserts. What awaits them is candlelight supper rejoicing in the love of music.. That love will hopefully conquer us all, who came to listen to it.

There was one change of program (I hate when it happens, but it is not that unusual, sadly) – originally there were two Poems of Scriabin, at the lat moment it changed to much better known Tchaikovsky.

I was looking very much so to Edward Grieg. When I think of musical Scandinavia it is always either Grieg or Finland’s sweet Sibelius.

/last picture shows two main culprits of the event (and many more musical happenings in Vancouver): Iko Bylicki and Patric May/

The glory of dawns

The glory of dawns

Bogumil Pacak-Gamalski

Going out at night, with the camera in hand, is easy and very alluring. Who can resist looking at the clear night sky and hunting the Moon, the glorious stars and and their constellations? It is a natural urge to gaze and dream, to take pictures of it.

But try to reverse the the order and you will be rewarded equally. You might not be able to see with naked eye into the depths of far away reaches – but our own cosmic neighborhood offers amazing images. Id the sky is clear – it is dominated with our own star, the Sun.

And so it was at dawn today, close to 5 AM. It lasts only minutes, but the minutes are priceless. Full glory and power of a day waking up.

Stanley Park w Vancouverze – gloria wiosny

Stanley Park w Vancouverze – gloria wiosny

Bogumił Pacak-Gamalski

Very few words about it, because words fail to describe the amazing display of nature of the Park, and especially it’s edges around the Rose Garden and Lost Lagoon. Let the camera tell the story. May brings to Stanley Park the volcanic eruption of colours and life. The crown jewel of the entire beautiful city.

Kilka tylko słów, bo słów brakuje na opis tego zjawiska, gdy natura budzi się z zimowego letargu. Początkowo jeszcze senna, jeszcze rozleniwiona delikatną zielenią świeżych pędów na gałązkach, na łąkach. Ale maj, maj to już co innego. Wybucha jak wulkan symfonią kolorów życia płatków kwiatów, świeżą zielenią gałązek i fauną u brzegów Zagubionej Laguny w Parku Stanleya. Wówczas, w tych dniach to korona piękna Vancouveru.

Dwa Domy

Bogumił Pacak-Gamalski

30 kwietnia, w New Westminster. Jestem za barem. Sam, ale z kufelkiem piwa ale. Dawno sam nie zaprosiłem siebie na piwko. Jedno wystarczy – i tak mam niezłe zawroty głowy po wypadku i bez pomocy piwa.  To jedno wszak smakuje wybornie, a bar praktycznie po drugiej strony ulicy. Wieczór ciepły, bywalcy chyba starsi ode mnie ode mnie próbują swoich sił przed mikrofonem. Z rezultatem podobnym do opery sprzed kilku dni: jedni świetni w country songs, drudzy głosu może nie stracili, ale muzykalność zdecydowanie, a jako że muzykalność trudno stracić, to pewnie nigdy jej jednak nie mieli. Co jest zupełnie OK – można muzykę lubić bez zdolności muzykalnych.

Ktoś gra bardzo ładnie na harmonijce, a to instrument wdzięczny, choć bardzo rzadko spotykany na koncertach muzyki poważnej. Letni wieczór w popularnym barze. Bywałem tu kilkanaście lat temu, bywam i teraz. Miło być na swoich kątach.

Rekuperacja powypadkowa nie idzie ani do przodu ani do tyłu. System zdrowotny przestał działać lub działa na zasadzie łutu szczęścia i przypadku. Trochę lepiej dla tych, którzy mają własnego lekarza domowego. Ja nie mam. Zabawne jest, że kilka tygodni temu dostałem pismo z Nowej Szkocji, że jestem teraz stałym pacjentem doktora X … rok po przeprowadzce z Nowej Szkocji nad brzeg drugiego oceanu, z drugiego końca kontynentu. Może jak wjadę do Polski za rok-dwa, to dostane pismo, że mam stałego lekarza w Vancouverze. Wizyty będą darmowe, ale dojazdy koszmarnie drogie, LOL.

          Ale mimo wszystko to autentycznie piękny kraj. Kocham jego oszałamiającą naturę i jego etnicznych wachlarz z całego globu. Spacery ulicą są spacerami, jak w galerii kolorów, odcieni, akcentów. I mimo zadrażnień, ta mozaika pracuje, funkcjonuje zgodnie i pogodnie.

W zasadzie mógłbym bez problemu mieszkać w jakimkolwiek kraju, gdzie panuje demokracja (to warunek sine qua non), ale Domy mam tylko dwa: Kanadę i Polskę. Przyznaje, że bardzo różne, ale to już efekty historii. Oba są piękne na swój specyficzny sposób.

Często wszak zapominamy jak bardzo Polska i Kanada są inne niż były w swoich dawnych wcieleniach. Historia – dłuższa o setki lat w przypadku Polski – bardzo ich oryginalny kształt demograficzny zmieniła. Jeszcze ciekawszy jest fakt, że w kompletnie odwrotnych kierunkach.

To Kanada w początkowym kształcie etniczno-językowym była prawie jednorodna: anglo-szkockim w jednej połowie i francuskim w drugiej. De iure oficjalnie tak zostało do dziś, co potwierdza zapis konstytucyjny – de facto jest to jednak bardzo ciekawa językowa wieża Babel.

Rzeczypospolita od późnych Piastów była przynajmniej trójjęzyczna. Dziś (naturalnie generalizuję, bo jest kwestia Kaszubów i Ślązaków ale i te mniejszości językowe na co dzień dość powszechnie używają języka polskiego)  jest zdecydowanie językowo jednolita. Co raz trudniej spotkać nawet tak miłe dla ucha dźwięczne akcenty i gwary regionalne.

Gdzie jesteś Itako?

Jaki masz kształt portu

i skały przybrzeżnej?

Wskaż kurs moim ptakom.

Znużony jestem już

cudami światów, hen.

Gwiazdami nad żaglem

i hukiem morskich burz.

Żagiel chcę swój zwinąć

i rzucić kotwicę.

Iona Island by the airport, sea and the Watchman of the Black Order

Iona Island by the airport, sea and the Watchman of the Black Order

Bogumil Pacak-Gamalski

I used to see it from the other shore, from the hidden and secretive trails at the bottom of Marine Drive or from the top, from the air, when flying anywhere from Vancouver Airport. I am not even sure if I truly went there physically for a walk. If I did it was really many, many years ago, maybe in 1990ties? Because everywhere you look from Iona jetty you see familiar and dear shapes of shoreline and sea – it feels that you were. But did you?

At least last Tuesday was memorable and I will remember this time. Sun was gorgeous, sand soft, almost muddy, the shapes of fallen white huge trees, their trunks and strange crowns of roots brought by an ocean from forests far away, the piercing sunrays from blue skies – all created eerie atmosphere of Cocteau theater stage or Hasior’s artistic installations.

Younger friend bringing the whiff of youthful air and contemporary world and a Black Watchman of yesteryear. Of an ancient Black Order.

Theatrical? But of course! It truly was a massive stage, with huge steel pterodactyls flying from the airport right there above our heads.

Links:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jean_Cocteau

https://culture.pl/en/artist/wladyslaw-hasior

Cathedrals, Operas, Magic Houses and Beaches

Cathedrals, Operas, Magic Houses and Beaches

Bogumil Pacak-Gamalski

I have few passions in my life. No, I will not write fifty pages blog post, don’t panic, LOL. But generally speaking I wear my emotions on my sleeve and if I like something and enjoy it – I usually use terms ‘I loved it’ instead of ‘I liked it’. Be it a dance, or a kiss, a poem or an operatic aria. Yet, also a … long walk on a beach, in the forest, through bustling streets of big cities.

I do the walks much more often the operas – it is much more affordable. The trails and streets do not need to be re-done completely with new sidewalks, shops, and cafes.  In opera – they do. A piano concert very often does not need even an orchestra – just one instrument and one player. In an opera, whoa! A lot: en entire orchestra, most of the time a choir, many actors-singers, and sometime even ballet parts; new set for the stage. None of it comes cheap. So, you pay for the tickets.

But I go to operas much less than to other musical events. There is also a much larger chance that it might be disappointing. Not because a composer was bad, but it could (and often is) that the singers are very un-even in their talent and ability. It could drive you crazy listening to beautiful aria being murdered- I prefer when the dying are the operatic characters, not the delivery of a song LOL.

In the past two days I did both – long walks and an opera. It started with a long and tiring walk in Downtown Vancouver. I enjoyed it – but still suffering (when will it end, brrrr?) from an bad accident a month ago, it was a challenge. By the time I got the Queen Elizabeth Theater[i] I was already a bit exhausted, especially if you add to it a visit to the Holy Rosary Cathedral for a beautiful Latin Mass for late Pope Francis. It wasn’t the Old Rite Latin Mass, just the language of the Liturgy and songs by the choir were in Latin. I thought very appropriately. The pews were full.

From there, a walk to the theater. And my seat was in the second last row of the balcony. I almost compared it to the religious experience from the church and thought of (how inappropriately, LOL!) – Calvary. I sat on the, edge (for that I’m grateful), right by the stairs. Never noticed that the seats are so small and leg space is almost non-existent! I’m sure my neighbor didn’t appreciated my constant attempts to shift my body and relive my screaming left leg.

Madama Butterfly offers one of the most enduring and sad arias for soprano sung by the greatest: Montserat Caballe[ii], Maria Callas and many other great divas. I must say truly that the soprano at this performance was superb. Yasko Sato was extraordinary in her rendition of both the joy (first part) and incomprehensible sadness in the second part of the opera. Actually, the entire ensemble was very good … except the tenor singing the part of Butterfly husband – Pinkerton. Sad. Why doesn’t he seek engagement in the choir perhaps, or some local pubs offering pop songs for jolly clientele? Just about every other male voice in that ensemble was better than his. Ej wej… I will not mention his name. No need. Orchestra performed very well, thank you Maestro Lacombe.

Very poignant and interesting change was the historical setting of the opera – the director moved it to Nagasaki in … 1945. I thought that it has added some deeper sense of tragedy to the story.

               Alas, the next day came. The other passion, emotions: the walks. And what could be better on a nice walk if not the company of dear friend? Nothing, indeed. Wawa and I went to very dear for me paths of Crescent Beach in South Surrey[iii].  So many dear memories: with John, with my Mom, who loved it here, with my Damian. The days I was truly happy.  Not much has changed there, thanks heavens. As they say: if it ain’t broken – don’t fix it. Although the local business owners (same business, as in my times) were telling us with horror of some plans by local city politicians of idiotic plans for new parking restrictions. That might kill these businesses right out.

I even took my socks off and it was such a wonderful sensation to feel the rocks under my soles, the broken shells, and water! You have no idea how beautiful sensation it gives you, unless like me you were denied that for long weeks now because of the accident. I felt as free as being on Wreck Beach almost, LOL[iv]. Simply by … removing socks, ha ha ha.

Wawa, that old soul wonderful guy, was a company par excellence. There was not a single word uttered, that was forced, or unnecessary; likewise there was not a single moment of silence that felt uncomfortable. Yet, a lot of words were said and there were moments of silence.

We looked at Point Roberts, at Tsawwassen and its Centennial Beach. I was telling him what it was then; he told me what has changed.

What has changed? I don’t know. The colour of your dress, of his pants, oh her hair, of their car? Maybe. But if they were your friends – nothing really changed. They didn’t, you didn’t, and we stayed true to ourselves. Remember – that’s what made us friends at the beginning.

Yeah – it was a nice walk. Earlier, before Crescent Beach, I went for breakfast to Wawa’s magic house – all the overgrown greenery, the abundance of spring lowers, petals on the trail, on the porch, the friendly parrot. Later to peaceful Ocean View Cemetery in Sapperton and there rows upon rows of flowering cherry trees. His friend was just waking her lovely and friendly blind dog there. We had nice chat.

Yeah – it was a nice walk with a friend.

[i] Queen Elizabeth Theatre – Vancouver Civic Theatres – Vancouver Civic Theatres

[ii] Madama Butterfly (1995 Remastered Version): Un bel dì vedremo (Act II) – YouTube Music

[iii] Crescent Beach | City of Surrey

[iv] Wreck Beach is a famous Vancouver’s nudist beach

Krople słów

Krople słów

Bogumił Pacak-Gamalski

Perhaps two words in English first: I just noticed myself that my post recently are all (or predominantly) in Polish. Have no idea why. Usually I use Polish when the subject matter is specifically about Poland or Polish people. The truth is I really don’t make a conscious choice about the language I’m using – when I think about it in Polish – I write in Polish; when I think about the subject in English, I write in English. So I have I become more Polish than Canadian suddenly, LOL? I don’t think it is possible. Maybe because of my recent accident I have become by necessity bound to the space of my apartment and most things in it are ‘Polish’: books on shelfs, paintings and photographs on the wall? For some reasons I was also listening to old Polish pop music from the (sic!). Does it mean that when I will go to Poland most of my sentimental stuff of walls and shelfs will be Canadian-English? Perhaps. After all- Canadian English was my language for a big majority of my life, entire adulthood.

But, be it what it is – next post is in Polish, too. For no other reasons but the fact that I thought of it in … Polish, LOL.

Gdy wstajesz tuż przed świtem, świat ledwie budzący się z tobą jest inny. Mów językiem poezji, zapomina o potocznym języku świata praktycznego. Wychodzisz na balkon i gapisz się w ten półsenny budzący się świat. Moment krótki to trwa tylko, ale w tym momencie gadasz, jak ten półsenny wróżbita jakieś wiersze pozbawione formy lub tą formę odrzuciwszy kompletnie. No, bo w takim świecie akcenty, sylaby, podział wersyfikacyjny – jest kompletnie bezużyteczny, nie pasuje w tym świecie półsennym. Świecie przed pierwszą ranną kawą.

Przedświt

Słowa, słowa, słowa;

zdania, jak pytania

kryją się za oknem

w mokrej deszczu mgle.

A ja jeszcze, jeszcze, jeszcze

szukam odpowiedzi na nie.

Znależć chcę te zdanie,

co odpowie na pytanie,

którego nie znam ciągle.

Tylko deszcze, tylko mgły.

słowa, jak ptaki wirujące

w tunelach strumieni kropli

wody, kropli słów niepewnych

świata, siebie wystraszonych.

A ja jeszcze, jeszcze, jeszcze

stoję w oknie mokrym

za firanką mgły, zapłakaną

szybą słów szukających domu.

Słowa bezdomne,

domy milczące,

deszcze zapłakane.

A ja jestem jeszcze

w drodze na łąki,

brzegiem biegu rzek

i ścieżkami strumieni.

Jeszcze tańczę wokół dębu,

jak kapłan Peruna,

jak wróżbita z Wolina

w świątyni Światowida.

Jestem jeszcze.

Jeszcze, jeszcze.

/B. Pacak-Gamalski, 26.04.25/

The Pope

Bogumil Pacak-Gamalski

As Kevin Farell, the Cardinal Camerlengo of the Vatican, announced on Monday the death of Jorge Mario Bergoglio, the 266 Pope of Vatican and Catholic world – His Holiness Francis – I had to look back at His record as a Pontiff.

Who was that man, what he meant to his followers, his flock; what he meant to the world as a whole?

Perhaps the best answer lies in his own memories of that day in Sistine Chapel in 2013, when his fellow cardinals from around the world choose him as a new Vicar of Christ – the pope.

He recalled his conversation on that day, at that moment with his friend, Cardinal Claudio Hummes. Hummes kissed him and congratulated and then said quietly word: the poor. Don’t forget the poor. Cardinal Bergoglio, the new pope, was struck by it and right away thought of St. Francis of Assisi, the patron of the poor, friend of the natural flora and fauna. That’s it – it was clear for him without hesitation – the new pope from far away Argentine will be Francis. And so he was on many occasions, through long, fourteen years of papacy: a friend of the underprivileged, the hungry, and the immigrants hoping for better life, refugees, and victims of wars all over the entire globe. He truly was not a politician, diplomat – he was a shepherd looking after the flock of humanity. Very often beyond that – in his support of ecosystem, for environment, also for his ecumenical work.

He wasn’t John, Paul, Benedict, Pius, Leo – names of great apostles and famous saints of the Church. Just Francis, after a poor young man from Toscany.

After the great scandals of sexual transgressions (in many cases rapes of young boys and girls) during the later days of John Paul II, and during the reign of Benedict, it followed Francis as a dark cloud. Another difficult times was his struggles and fights with the powerful group of conservative cardinals, who rejected the 2 Vatican Synod. Yet, Francis persevered. He understood that the Church to survive it must move from XIX century way of thinking into the XXI century. That if the world changes, so must the Church, without missing or altering the basic tenets of faith. There was always a theological and scholastic doctrine that there is the Church as an embodiment of Christ and there is the Church as an institution, administration, and that second role must move forward with the faithful in the world.

Yet, he wasn’t a ‘revolutionary’ pope by any means. He was just practical and educated. After all, he was a Jesuit, and for a very long time it was widely believed that a Jesuit should never become a pope. ‘Civilian’ clergy (not belonging to any order and the most common) didn’t trust them and were afraid of them. Other, mostly older orders, disliked them too, believing that they were to educated in scientific pursuits instead of proper monastic hymns and payers to God and saints.

Very important in Canada, especially among the First Nations, was the pope visit here and offering an unconditional apology for the role of Catholic Church in the tragedy of running the Residential Schools.

He was also unapologetically critical of Israel’s genocide of Palestinian civilians in their total war with Hamas.

In conclusion it could be said that Francis I came to Rome and changed it in profound way, much more substantial than not wearing the triple crown on the official enthronization or not using all the ‘imperial’ insignia of the Office.  

The new pope will not be able to return to the old ways and will have a hard time to fill his shoes.

On my part the only serious disappointment was his inability to full accept the women role in Church. As the Church couldn’t and will not survive without women, both from religious Orders and laity.