VOICES - Maria Gąsecka

About

Should poetry not be particularly sensitive to unspoken, anonymous messages
digested by the uproar of death, the chaos of lies, the quicklime of
oblivion? Should that most intimate of the arts not lend its voice and give
solace somewhat to its yearnings? Forget about itself at least for a moment?
Penetrate the destinies of persons faded away, whose living desires were
snagged on an unclear phrase of shadow? Are we, the constantly forgotten,
recognised by other forgotten souls? What do the dead say about us? Do
they remember us? Can we listen carefully to those we don't remember?
Those who were murdered on the Baltic coast in 1970 have their names
and their monuments (although we can't be sure that we know all of the
murdered); they exist in the memories handed down in the family circle.
They also live as a symbol of resistance to an inhuman regime in the second
half of the twentieth century, or as some of the evidence of its criminal
activity. Lately, some of them have been brought to life in the film „Black
Thursday". I wonder if one might not approach them any closer, and those
whom they loved? To incarnate oneself, for an eternal moment, in their
continuing voyage of resurrection, in their effaced and unrecognised and
everlasting and unborn life, reduced to ashes?