Eh, Sirius, Sirius … are you serious?

Bogumil Pacak-Gamalski

I did usually hunt for Moon (many times, LOL). for Venus (typical woman, timid and tricky, LOL), as for our own Sun – more than I should have, LOL. I was able to spot Orion from the Atlantic coast hanging from it’s cosmic street light post. But Sirius always was tricky. Today I choose a perfect night – clear and bright of of all the stardust flickering as on Christmas tree.

Tripod set steady an here we go. Only 8.5 light years away. What’s a light year for a dreamer? Nothing, really. Sirius being actually a binary star is often fluctuating in light waves and it shows on some of the photos. On one or two, I think, you can see the little sister of Sirius as a bluish spot. And yes, Orion is not far away, nor the two vey angry hunting dogs: Canis Major and Canis Minor protecting Sirius from very serious hunters set to destroy our star – the twins Castor and Pollux. On the other hand – what does it matter if the huge giant-star Antares could explode any day now. And I mean it is a huuuuge red giant. And it will collapse any second, and the show will be visible from Earth. Unlike another star that visited Vancouver recently – for that Antares show tickets will be free, LOL. Grab you folding chair and get ready. Really – anytime. Anytime between tomorrow and a … milion years from now. You see, the stars are extremely finicky, their concept of time is very much not in line with ours. But that I can’t fix. Not even with my old camera. Goodnight now.

Escaping words and worlds

Bogumił Pacak-Gamalski

I have been silenced, my words escaped me. For the first time in a long while I have that strange feeling. Are there subjects not worthy a comment, an opinion? Gosh, no! Climate catastrophe with 2024 declared the warmest since temperatures were recorded; Trump and his enormous threat to peace and world stability; Ukraine failing under the yoke of huge armies and armaments of Russia, and as a side reflection of that – posing a growing threat to the safety of Polish borders. Perhaps European war is inevitable? War in Europe would be catastrophic beyond comprehension.

But I don’t have to add anything to these subjects. They only captivate my interest, worries for a moment. Like some side show on the peripheries of reality. My reality.

Ensuing grief? I’m not sure if this is just grief anymore. I am gradually loosing an interest in all of it, and I do mean: in all of it, the world around me. It is, I’m in it, but I’m outside of it.

Poetry still has some weight, some meaning, but even that meaning changed.

Our time

Do I write words or

do I write meanings?

What else is there more

in search of being?

To look outward to

world and it’s people

or inward for you?

Meadow, church steeple?

But, if I gaze to

stars, then Venus I

choose in hue of blue!

For yours, our divine

time we had for us,

when the world was mine.

(by B. Pacak_Gamalski, 2025)

Does that sonnet tell of me, does it fill me still to the brim of my soul and heart? It does in some way. But in some, I still yearn the company of friends. Of faces dear and voices warm. Still want to care about them, the dear ones, even if they don’t really need to be taken care of. It is often that the ‘caretaker’ of people needs to give that care more than those, who receive it.

As for the rest of the world outside of my inner one, it seems to be diminishing ever more. Objectively speaking that world is in great need of care – it just doesn’t hold any sway over me anymore or less and less. Is it right to feel like that? I don’t know. I try to avoid passing judgment. They say that you should never represent yourself in court of justice; you should have an advocate to do that. But who are ‘they’, anyway? And if they do pass a judgment – do I really care? Or will I remain silent, without words that used to be plentiful?

But when I will start write just words without meanings – someone please let me know and silence me.

Biegając po niebie Running through night sky

Bogumił Pacak-Gamalski

Nocne niebo kusi, obiecuje, zachwyca. Gwiazdy migocą, szeptają coś, te małe drobiazgi wydają się biegać, gonić ze śmiechem. Więc goniłem za nimi z kamerą. Nie dały się złapać. Jeno Łysy pilnował swą wielgachną latarnią by swawoli za dużo nie było. Venus troche udało mi sie podejrzeć, gdy krygowała się przed Orionem siedzącym na dyszlu Wielkiego Wozu. Ale Łysy tak silnie świecił, , a Wenus tak się w odległych kątach kryły ze swoimi zalotami, żem ledwie mógł nieco tylko podejrzeć. Com widział, to pokażę.
The night sky today was particularly busy with lovemaking or love-hoping. Although Moon kept an eye for proper behavior and shone huge light to toward the dark corners. Especially were Venus tried to spark an interest in her beauty from handsome Orion. As she tried to hide in the shadows of the night sky - I had hard time to catch her splendor. But what I did - I will show you.

MOON

VENUS

An exercise in futility or search of meaning? A battle with a microphone and poetry.

Bogumił Pacak-Gamalski

How do you write a poem? Where is it borne? I mean – how the simple act of poetic writing occurs, how is it borne?

Of course, there are poets, who simply give themselves a task of writing a poem or three per day, or per week. When you do have a career as a poet, you are expected to keep writing. You need to publish here and there in a literary paper, every so often to publish a full new book of poetry. It is a job after all to maintain a name in circulation.

On the other hand, there are these impossible poets, who simply don’t give a damn about the business of being a poet. They just write when they feel like. Maybe once a day, or once a week, a month per chance? And some might even get silent for extended period of time. Free spirits.

What interest me in the original question is not how often or how rarely they write, but how the poem, the words are borne. Do you say them aloud? Is it possible that you think: I will write a poem about this or that? Do you seat yourself and start saying that poem aloud and copy it on paper (keyboard)? To be precise – is a poem borne in your soul or in your brain? Is it possible to use a verbatim form of recording a poem?

The other day I used a microphone that ‘types’ the words into a computer by itself (what will they think of next, LOL!). Therefore the poem was deliberately born in the brain. It had no form or ‘sketch’ that I ‘copy’ on paper. It was becoming as I was saying it to the mike. I knew therefore what I was saying but had no idea what the next stanza will be. In a way it turned out to be …a discourse with the microphone. And the microphone was trying to correct my trail of thought, LOL, which I resisted angrily. It became almost a battle of wills. Very amusing. Decided to keep it, as a reminder that it definitely is not my way of writing poetry. It felt almost Kantor-esque, if I can use the workings of great Polish and international theater stages by Tadeusz Kantor.

Here it is, cacophonic, almost angry, but somehow makes (maybe only to myself?) sense.

Verbatim

the day is done when

the night is bright

nothing is the same

mornings are late

nights are brighter

by Moon’s shine

flowers are not done

flowering again

birds are not singing

I think it’s harder

to listen exactly

to what I’m saying

do not correct me

do not embellish

my words I am

the poet nor are you

my angel my fan

my listener it

takes too much time for

you to understand

what I need from you

but we will get there

a day at a time

an hour after hour

a year after year

bye bye now

time to go to bed

when we will talk again

it should be easier

I am going to

a new day good night

my lover per chance

Trails, Sun and Moon above Okanagan Lake

Bogumił Pacak-Gamalski

During the long Pleistocene there were few glacial movements in what is known now as an Okanagan Valley. It created an amazing mixture of land and water formations near Kelowna. Of course Okanagan Lake, the largest depository and former deepest channel of the glacier as it retreated from these lands. But there is multitude of smaller lakes stretching to Shuswap and Arrow Lakes to the east and multitude of smaller lakes in the mountains and hills surrounding the valley. Between – a maze of streams and small rivers feeding middle size lakes (Maramata, Kalamalka and Wood – to name just a few) or the huge Okanagan Lake.

Today I went for trek to some of the high hills (mind you – still hills, not proper mountains) on the southeast above Kelowna. It is a mixture of grassland and small patches of wooded area with pines and shrubs. Human habitation is ever encroaching there, as people build more and more monstrous mansions higher and higher. Still, I hiked higher and further. At a certain spot, traversing a deep gully with very steep sides I have noticed a narrow trail from the bottom to the other side. As the gass was half frozen and numerous patches os snow made it slippery, I gladly took that narrow trail. I realized quickly that it was narrow for a good reason – it was not made by other hikers but by animals. The only marks I found were those of coyotes and very distinctive footprints of a bear. As the slopes were very steep, I couldn’t see what was on the other side and ascertain how fresh the footprints were. My chances of running very quickly on that terrain were rather slim. But today our paths did not cross… , LOL. I followed, were I could, old existing trails: aptly named Hoodoo Trail, Coyote Trail and Grassland Trail. In parts – mostly it was just the grassland and the trails appeared and disappeared under the grass and snow.

The view from these hills toward the city far away and the mountains above me was just amazing. An eagle was screeching angrily at me – go home! And laughingly I yelled back at him: never you mind, I will not bother you, go away! Which he did flown away from hi s nest on one of the tall pines. The eagle also gave sign that a true spectacle was just about to begin: the absolutely stunning sunset on the west side and almost full moon on the east. It was something to behold. Hope my camera captured part of it. Enjoy.

On John’s street in Kelowna …

Bogumil Pacak-Gamalski-Graham

In the middle of Kelowna there is a magic street called ‘Graham Road’. It is magic not only because of the name (my husband’s and soulmate) but because it is magic during the Christmas time. We went there tonight with my cousin, a good week after Christmas – but there was still plenty to marvel at. Check it out yourself. And next time you are during that time – remember to go there for a walk or drive .

… and few more from her own magical winter adobe

Back to the trails in 2025 around Kelowna

Bogumil Pacak-Gamalski

Being the last day of the last year I went yesterday for a longer walk afternoon. Not far, maybe five kilometers, to the base of Toovey Hill in Kelowna. On the walk there I met a wonderful iron biker hurrying up to chase off the old year and bring the new one. And he did (as most of you I hope noticed, LOL – it is 2025).

But today the New Year is here. Why not – lets continue that walk started yesterday. And take our two dogs (Roko and Czorcik) along for that walk. We did. But why finish where I stopped last night? No point – newer should be better, shouldn’t it? Czorcik (pronounced Chorcheek which means exactly that in Polish – a little devil) being that tiny devil. agreed, LOL.

We went to the bottom of the hill, crossed a busy Highway 33 and ended up by little church and pond there. We went there once before, I recall at that time was still warm Fall, pond was full od ducks and definitely not frozen. Not today, tough. Today it was solidly frozen. I asked loudly: shall we go back home? Simultaneously we both replied: nah, what for? Let’s go further.

And we did. A lovely old windy road settled between orchards and farmhouses took us all the way to the beginning of Mission Creek Park. A park we know both very well, as we walked and hiked there twice. I posted here short photographic memories of the first trip_[i].

Here are some more of the pictures from the other end of Mission Creek forest, the less travelled, definitely not touristy road.

_{[i] Urban Mission Creek Park and a lake on high mountain in wilderness of Okanagan, BC. – > > Pogwarki < <}

An ode to Stanley Park

Bogumil Pacak-Gamalski

There is a place full of magic. Place that deserves an ode, a poem. But a poem that you, the Reader, will have to write using your own words. I will just offer you some imagery captured on camera during my last visit to Vancouver ( a city full of its own magic and beauty). Therefore, without further ado, let me take you for a walk through that magical place.

Spacer cienia – Walk of a shadow

Bogumił Pacak-Gamalski

Chodzę moimi ulicami, zaglądam do moich kawiarenek. Do Naszych Miejsc. Uśmiecham się do mijanych ludzi, rozmawiam nawet z nimi.

Nagle spostrzegam, że jestem cieniem. Spoza ich świata, poza nimi, obok. Nie, nie umykam chyłkiem, jak złodziejaszek kieszonkowy, jak przemytnik. Ale przenikam między nimi jak cień właśnie. Taki nie całkiem materialny.

Siedzę teraz w jednym z pokoików naszego Queer Community Centre^[i] na rogu Davie and Bute. Lubiłem tu przychodzić. Sam, z Johnem. Taki dom poza domem. To tu był pierwszy w historii nowożytnych olimpiad oficjalny Gay Olympic Pawilon (Pride House)^[ii]. Po tamtej Olimpiadzie takie Pawilony stały się normą sankcjonowaną przez MKO (Międzynarodowy Komitet Olimpijski). Uroczy recepcjonista wita mnie z uśmiechem i pyta czy ma mnie oprowadzić. Uśmiecham się, znam tu przecież każdy pokoik i zakamarek; przesuwam się bezszelestnie (cienie robią to świetnie) korytarzykami do jednego ze znajomych pokoi, siadam przy stoliku, otwieram notatnik i piszę właśnie te słowa.

Nałkowska używała w swoich Dziennikach często ten zwrot przy kolejnych wpisach: i znów zaszła zmiana w polu mojego widzenia. Ale tu teraz to nie pasuje. To ja – patrzący – przeszedłem zmianę. Stałem się przeźroczystym cieniem.

Ile jest takich cieni spacerujących ulicami? Czy mijam ich sam na skrzyżowaniach nie zauważając nawet? Może moja transformacja jest jeszcze za świeża, jeszcze nie zadomowiła się w mojej świadomości? Niełatwo, bo jeszcze słyszę stuk mojej laseczki i uderzenia cholewek na krawężniku trotuaru.

(English version)

It has been so peaceful and pleasant for the first few days here. Here – back to Our Home, Vancouver. You walked with me; you held my hand. At times – it seemed – you placed a kiss on my cheek.

But it changed abruptly. I noticed it on my second trip to Downtown Vancouver. I was alone. You were nowhere to be seen, to be touched. You were gone. As I know that you are.

Today I ventured closer to our first home on Capitol Hill in Burnaby, as I went to Commercial Drive in East Van.

Commercial is a lovely stretch of space between Hasting and Boadway, that contains people, their laughter, neighborly shopping in plentiful little shops, cafes. It is also a perfect mix of rich and poorer, accountants, architects and artists and artisans. Went to the Cultch Theater – the last play I have seen there years ago was a very good adaptation of “Waiting for Godot”, we went there to see it together, with You.

Stopped by Your favored shop on the corner of Commercial and Venables. Later I had sweets and excellent coffee in one of the cafes.

I looked everywhere. In vain. It came to me in a physical, sharp pain. As if something heavy and cold penetrated my heart. Something that screamed at me angrily: he is not here! He is gone! Oh, I so wanted to pick up a street fight with that screaming ugly IT, have even raised my walking stick a bit, was ready to shout back at IT: you are a liar! He is here, with me!

But there was no one around to scream at. The Screamer was not material, was invisible. But it was loud and clear.

You attempt to re-fight battles that you have had already lost is always futile.