Category: English

Queen Victoria would have smiled

Queen Victoria would have smiled

Bogumił Pacak-Gamalski

In 1856 Major General Richard Moody founded the City as a Capital of the colony of British Columbia.  Actually he named it originally as a Queensborough.  It was no one other than Queen Victoria, who called it a Royal City, and because the Seat of the Power was in Parliament in London – it was formally called a New Westminster.

Hence, it retained that old charm and European – in the Island flavor , of course – style of streets and architecture. The two main streets are Columbia and above it , you guessed it – is naturally Royal Avenue leading to – again, of course – Royal Park.

Eventually much later, in the 1920, Vancouver overtook it by size and population. But the Royal City remained with its stiff upper lip, LOL.

I have not been here for almost a decade. But it feels and looks like nothing has changed.  Naturally, it did. But almost just superficially: it used to be that every second store was a wedding dresses, long tails and suits. There are still few of them and prominently displayed but the majority was replaced with new, metro-style trendy cafes, little restaurants with excellent cuisine,  boulangeries –patiseries (It will be the death of me, considering my weakness for a good cake and pastries, aj wej!), even an excellent exotic and elegant (very handsome perfumer) salon with perfumes called ‘Aromatica’ – that will be the death of my bank account, LOL. Did I mention that salon is exactly next door to an entrance to the building I’m living in? Aj wej!!! There is also rather visible (or audible) musical life here. Back in my first years here there was a popular restaurant/club ‘Heritage Grill’. Used to go there many times for a good music and good drinks. Often with dances, which my Mom used to like very much. While still living in Halifax, the owner notified me that the club was consumed by fire. so now the musicians move to little drinking hole ‘Judge Begbie’s Tavern’ and at least twice a week old singers and players and new aspiring ones gather there for impromptu concerts. Little corner by the door where they perform is called Heritage Grill Corner. Nice. Spent an evening there and had a nice chat with two young singers.

Enough of these ahs! and ohs!. Beter turn to pictures and see for yourself.

Futuristic City – Miasto Jutra

Futuristic City – Miasto Jutra

Bogumił Pacak-Gamalski

(in English and in Polish)

Specifically and accurately speaking it is not ‘a city’, entire town – rather a specific fragment of Burnaby, major part of Greater Vancouver. Even more specific – a small but prominent section concentrated around intersection of Kingsway, Willingdon and Beresford streets. What is popularly called a Metrotown. A city of glass towers with massive commercial mall in the middle of it.

Któż nie pamięta “Przedwiośnia” Stefana Żeromskiego (jeśli ktoś nie pamięta, to nie powód do chwały – pewne kanony literatury polskiej winny być podstawą tego, co określa się mianem świadomości inteligentnego [czyt. mądrego Polaka]) i jego wizji szklanych domów Baryki? Symbolu nowoczesnej, sprawiedliwej i pięknej odrodzonej Polski. Nawet jeśli “Przedwiośnia” nie bardzo pamiętacie – to bez wątpienia, co te hasło Polska szklanych domów oznaczało, jako metafora.

Odwiedzając wczoraj spacerem środkowy fragment Burnaby, nazywany od molocha-centrum handlowego Metrotown, wspomniałem tą metaforę z “Przedwiośnia”. Całą tą przestrzeń wciśniętą między ulicami Royal Oak, Kingsway, Willingdon i Imperial. Ale podobnie, jak wizją Żeromskiego nie miała z rzeczywistością wiele wspólnego, tak i ta wizja z Metrotown nic o sprawiedliwości społecznej nie mówiła. Jeśli literackie skojarzenia to zdecydowanie Lem a nie Żeromski przychodził na myśl. A właściwie jeszcze dalej i konkretniej: merkantylizm, blichtr, popyt-podaż. Ludzie tam chodzący to nie mieszkańcy – to klienci. Trudno uwierzyć, że tuż obok są urocze, rozległe miejsca spacerowe pięknego Central Park; nieco w dół Deer Lake uroczy, czy choćby spacerowe alejki wzdłuż Sanderson Way. Jeśli nie wiesz – pojęcia mieć nie możesz , bo te szklanno-betonowe ściany ulic przesłaniają wszelką perspektywę widokową. Naprawdę szkoda. Trzydzieści lat temu mieszkałem tu niedaleko, na Capitol Hill. Metrotown już istniał, cały ten wielki mall. Istniało wiele ze starszych wieżowców, ale wszystko miało to ciągle jakiś ludzki wymiar. Nie było martwą (mimo ciągłego ruchu, bieganiny) pustynią megalitów.

Przyznaję, że te szklane ściany przy odpowiednim naświetleniu, niebie i chmurach są gratką wielkich luster. I jest to ciekawe zjawisko i wyzwanie fotograficzne. Kilka z tego dnia zdjęć poniżej. Co naturalnie nie zmienia moich refleksji powyżej.

Letter to you

Letter to you

Bogumił Pacak-Gamalski-Graham

How do I say it? Where do I sent it, to what address? You didn’t leave any forwarding mail note in all these little messages for my on your old Iphone.  Yes, you did tell me that you love me – but that I knew already, as you did that I do love you. More than life. Much more than that. I guess we both did know IT for many decades.  Of course, as any lovers we also had the natural urge to say it over and over to the other. Silly, isn’t it? Yet, sweet nonetheless.

But I still don’t know where do I sent this letter, these words I scribble now to you. Just in case.

You know that I’m going in a day or two to complete the last leg of our last journey. I’m going to our Home. Back to our home. Back to the amazing city that saw us, blanketed us with its beauty and it’s almost unnatural  shower of protection, and gave our feelings a nest. No, it didn’t protect us from little silly misgivings, trespasses (even if they felt at that time as a apocalyptic catastrophe) – why would it? The city knew that they are of no consequence. It took care and protected that, which was most important and most cherished. That made life worthwhile – our mutual love. The rest was just a noise. Little things to do to fill time. It is when I laid in bed at night and listened to your breathing as you were falling asleep – that was when it mattered. That was all that mattered. Even more than – dare I say it?! – nights of passion that was heavenly.

Have to take that journey back. Back where we should had have came back much earlier together.  

It doesn’t matter anymore, really. You are coming with me anyway. Maybe not in body, but in memory. With passing years memories is often what we have left.

You know that highway I’m taking. During summertime it offers glorious vistas. This time of the years, at times it is very treacherous. A strange feeling came over me. A feeling that I might not make it. Not take us back home through the very last, short leg of the journey. Funny, but a bit disturbing. Foretelling?  Just in case,  a little note to you.  Want you to know that I almost did it. One could say that I did, regardless of some little detail at the very end. It would be like, let’s say falling off you skies at the very bottom of the hill, after a long slalom from the top. Who cares? You still skied from the very top. Just a mere few meters doesn’t really count.  No, I’m not wishing or hoping that it would end up like that. I do actually believe that in a day or two I will be unpacking in our new place back in our city. This is just a few words to you, in case of some tiny misshape on the last mile. Otherwise – see you at home, Babycake.

yours always –

Chalice

Bogumił Pacak-Gamalski-Graham

I have missed you still

I have missed you by

empty night and by

colorless daytime

I have missed you

yesterday on my walk

I have missed you today

when I got up from bed

I have missed you last year

and I’m missing you

this year the same

I have missed you

three years ago

the day you were

gone

I do get up in the morning; get dressed, have breakfast; clean the dishes afterwards and watch some news. I don’t go to concerts anymore or much less than I did in Halifax. It was terrible there, where every street, every park, every store reminded me of us being there together.  It is terrible here, where everywhere I go, I remember when younger us walked together. You are everywhere, and yet I know that you are nowhere. You are gone. Forever.

It was going to be easier they said, and I thought it would. It is not, or it is by the virtue that you can get used to even chronic pain. But the pain is not lesser and it is tiring all the same. After a while you are just tired of that chronic pain. You have had enough and you want to be gone, too. What is the point of maintaining that, which will never ease, never go away?

Oh, I know that mine is not special or rare and distinct. But suffering of others does not ease your pain. That would be a sick perversion. I know that you are no longer have any worries, unhappy days or sadness. You can’t ‘cause you are gone, nonexistent anymore. But it is the memory of you that pains me so much. I am the only holder, only chalice where you exist. For as long as I live, I will be that chalice containing you, and the pain.

Right now I am in the process or refurbishing my life again. Moving to place where we used have our happiest days, decades actually. No, not some sort idyllic frolicking in flowery meadow. A life with its bad days, but live full of love, nonetheless. It did exited me, when I got that idea, and I got struck with realization that I will be walking these trails, street, places as alone, as every day I did since you were gone. Yet, I’m looking forward to it. Strange. Somehow, can’t explain logically how it works, that chalice full of pain will not be as heavy? Or I will understand perhaps better why it is so heavy. Understanding a process might make it easier to go through it.

Yes, there is also that element of egoistic pleasure of ‘coming back home’. Sort of making it the full circle. Of course big part of that circle would be reconnecting with my old friends. Very dear people: older, younger, my age. Somehow our life and love did not preclude both of us from pursuing our own interests and social circles.  Much more on my part perhaps, not by design though or special privileges. I just did.

It will not make me happy in a conventional meaning of the world. It will however (or not?) allow me to live again, smile at times. Smile honestly, not politely.  

I will miss you

tomorrow again

I will miss you

as I did yesterday

I will miss you

till there is no longer

either night or day

in places we have lived

and places we have

never together been

until the chalice will

be broken and the wine

of life will be spilled

The charm of Downtown Vancouver through camera lense

The charm of Downtown Vancouver through camera lense

Bogumił Pacak-Gamalski

I posted here already photo galleries of Commercial Drive in Vancouver; of quaint sweet Ladner; of course of my beloved Stanley Park. Now it is time for cherry on top of it: the incomparable beauty of Downtown Vancouver.

Były tu już posty w ostatnich miesiącach z ruchliwej, uroczej Commercial Drive we Wschodnim Vancouverze; były z magicznego, zaczarowanego Stanley Parku, z uroczego małego Town of Ladner. Czas na koronę tego piękna zwanego Wielkim Vancouverem: Downtown Vancouver.

Musings during my walks in Vancouver during my second very short visit

Musings during my walks in Vancouver during my second very short visit

Bogumił Pacak-Gamalski

Musings in Vancouver, on February 14, 205. On Valentine  Day, hmmm. Me and Valentine’s Day?  Indeed, peculiar.

I’m seating On Davie Street in my favorite “Melriches” coffeehouse. Yes, having my Valentine cake (excellent carrot cake, moist, with whipping cream and a proper strawberry topping it). No, I bought it myself for myself. It is time to become good to myself.

To that little boy; that hungry for love and the world young man from many years ago, and it is time to say goodbye to the sad older gentleman I have become since John’s passing. No, I don’t dislike that gentleman. That older sad me. How could have he not being sad? It truly was a Greek tragedy that happened to him.

A speaker mounted on the wall above my seat plays some nostalgic melody. A young fellow (in the 30ties or early 40ties) sitting by the next table asks if I recognize the song from the 90ties. I’m startled but answer honestly, that not really, I wasn’t paying much attention to it, but yes, I do remember that style of popular music very well. He tells me the title and the name of the singer and proceeds making pleasant small talk about nice weather (that trick is older than myself and my grandparents, LOL), typical tête-à-tête. I point to my writing pad and the pen in my hand and smile apologetically saying: I’m sorry but I’m sort of busy with my notes.

Too bad – he responds a bit dry, slowly gets up and walks toward the door.

I feel bad yet still nice at the same time and say: but I do sincerely wish you a Happy Valentine and a pleasant day. He slows down and still turns his head and gives a smile and walks out. I do hope he did and my refusal was not taken personally. But it felt good – just that I already had a date with someone else – myself.

A table below me three very pleasant guys (definitely early 40ties, best age if you ask me) talk excitedly with each other (not too loud, though) in German. It surprises me how and when I started liking the sound of German. Of course with the exeption of loud shouting – I’m a Pole after all. But I do remember founding it harsh and hard many years ago. But it truly is not. After many visits to Germany I learnt to like it. Say what you want – but if Kant and Goethe talked in it – it couldn’t possibly be that bad. Does ‘liebe’ sounds harsh? Of course, not!  It sounds as alluring as in French, Polish, English.  Just with a bit of pepper taste to it. But I do love pepper …

I chatted shortly with them. We wished each other happy Valentine and they left.

I will be going soon, too. The cake is gone (despite the big size – it didn’t shocked me that I ate it, LOL).

Yet, I remembered to wish myself Happy Valentine. It wasn’t sardonic or ironic. It was honest. I have earned it. Or I will.

Happy Valentine to you, too – yes, you whoever you are, who reads these words now.

Next day …

Today the weather is opposite of yesterday. My feelings act as the weather, too. Cool, very wet, non-stop light rain, more accurately a drizzle. In a word: ugly. One of these, when using an umbrella seems like an excess, but taking long walks feel like an excess also. Of course, it does affect your soul. 

Suddenly  a strong feeling of longing. A longing to be in Warsaw, to see my loved ones, whom I’m missing terribly. Missing the youngest ones the most – grandchildren of my sisters. Missing the coffeehouses in Warsaw, my walks in the parks alongside the Royal Route (Trakt Królewski)  – all the way, from Lower Mokotów to Rydz-Śmigły Park. It feels like I’m trying to steal my time with them and my city for my own sentimentality and love for Vancouver. That I’m being an egotist. That I’m wasting my meager resources on phantom dreams, and that the egoistic ‘I’ wants to feel good and happy again.

Being happy … do I really even know anymore what ‘being happy means, how it feels?

A little midget seating in some dark corner of my soul screeches to me: where did you get that insane idea, that you are needed by anyone anywhere? What makes you so special to be arrogant like that? People have lives here and people have lives there. You are just a phantom visitor every now and then. But you are not part of their lives. Wishing a Happy Valentine to oneself! What a crazy and self absorbing idea!

He whispers witch metallic tone: the Gods have cast their ballot already!

            But I have stopped paying too much attention to Zarathustra or any other gods (perhaps with the exception of Apollo, LOL), and I will ignore that little gnome from the dark corner of my soul. I will press on to catch the end of my rainbow. It doesn’t have to be the entire rainbow, just one corner – I’m not greedy and don’t need that much. A smile now and then?  I think that maybe, maybe I have earned a tiny bit of it. Very likely, all of you too. If the world forgets sometime – ask for it.

Place of Recpice

Place of Recpice

Bogumil Pacak-Gamalski

Place of respice

No. I don’t know anymore

where is that place.

Have travelled many

decades now, across

oceans and land masses.

I’ve met and loved people,

have been in love with Him.

From airport to airport,

from train station to another

far away, in different city.

Gathered things and lost

all of it somewhere.

I have met friends, who

offered shelter and whom

I have helped, when help

was needed on a bad day.

But where is that place

of respice, of wisdom

learnt from this world,

from travels, loves

and friendships dear?

10.02.25

Nothing, nothing has changed since THAT year. A year when everything stopped for me. I have tried, have searched, got engaged in other things, re-connected with some friends. Yes, there were good days, maybe even weeks. There were jolts of enthusiasm, new plans. It never lasted for long. Not for lack of trying or lack of wanting. It is just, just that the weight of that year, of these days watching him slipping through my fingers, arms, my love, always finds me and whispers: you have not tried hard enough. It is not that I don’t know, that he would want me be alive and enjoying the surroundings, the places, faces and smiles. Especially these places here,  where we truly had our home. And gosh, we were happy.

Would he, if we changed places and roles? I think a bit more than me. I think he wouldn’t have carried such a heavy rock on his shoulders. He would have enjoy more his friends and places perhaps. It was me, who wants more of people, who needs them to be beautiful and good, with no broken souls, light and accepting of fates. He didn’t need anything of anyone. He just wanted them to be. He had such a beautiful soul.

And now I am tired. I need to find that place of respice, of understanding, of accepting. I am ready to say ‘hi’ to the world as it is. Have no strength left to carry my luggage anymore.

Eh, Sirius, Sirius … are you serious?

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.