{"id":1179,"date":"2020-06-24T10:40:36","date_gmt":"2020-06-24T08:40:36","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/us.edu.pl\/instytut\/ij\/?post_type=publikacje&p=1179"},"modified":"2020-07-03T08:34:45","modified_gmt":"2020-07-03T06:34:45","slug":"1179","status":"publish","type":"publikacje","link":"https:\/\/us.edu.pl\/instytut\/ij\/publikacje\/1179\/","title":{"rendered":""},"content":{"rendered":"

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\u2660<\/span><\/span> Our Best and Brightest<\/span><\/em><\/span><\/h4>\n

_______________<\/span><\/h4>\n

Melania Paszek<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

A LIFE IN LITERATURE AND STUDIES IN AUSTRIA. <\/span>Z ZAJ\u0118\u0106 NA FILOLOGII ANGIELSKIEJ DO GRAZ<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

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Melania Paszek<\/strong> jest absolwentk\u0105 studi\u00f3w I stopnia na kierunku filologia angielska na Uniwersytecie \u015al\u0105skim (rocznik \u201917, specj. kultura-media-translacja). Obecnie jest na ostatnim roku studi\u00f3w II stopnia na kierunku English & American Studies na Uniwersytecie w Graz (Austria) Tam ko\u0144czy pisanie pracy magisterskiej pt. Hawkins versus the Upside Down: Conveying Intertextuality and the Retro Aesthetic in <\/em>Stranger Things. Jej zainteresowania obejmuj\u0105 przede wszystkim kino i telewizj\u0119, literatur\u0119 wsp\u00f3\u0142czesn\u0105 (g\u0142\u00f3wnie ameryka\u0144sk\u0105) i szeroko poj\u0119t\u0105 popkultur\u0119. Ostatnie trzy lata swojego \u017cycia dzieli\u0142a mi\u0119dzy Austri\u0105, W\u0142ochami oraz Polsk\u0105. Pisze nieustannie \u2013 zar\u00f3wno akademicko, jak i kreatywnie. <\/span><\/p>\n

Poni\u017cej prezentujemy niekt\u00f3re teksty autorstwa naszej studentki.<\/span><\/p>\n

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29<\/em><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Most people are nosy beings by nature. They feast upon the experiences of others, hungrily devouring their fears, desires, characteristic behaviors. We enjoy peeking, eavesdropping, drinking off (accidental or perfectly aligned in one\u2019s mind, almost sewn up) the words off of the lips of our neighbors, passer-bys, friends or enemies. We strive to fulfill the need of information \u2013 even if it is in no way connected to us per se.<\/span><\/p>\n

Marion was like that. She lived in one of the smoky blocks of Brooklyn, in a couple-story brick building in the color of coffee washed off of a tablecloth. Her tiny apartment was located on the third floor, with doors (with a small silver number 29) made from walnut wood. On the left there lived a middle-aged married couple. Her \u2013 a workaholic, donning a hand-me-down, slightly too tight two-piece. Him \u2013 a constantly pouty hothead, who liked hitting the bottle a little too much. Almost each night, when the woman returned home from work, the girl from apartment 29 heard them arguing. The thin walls became the perfect resonator \u2013 one could distinguish almost every word in the clamor of commas, exclamation marks and words filled with fury and regret. Marion couldn\u2019t fathom herself putrefying in a relationship like that one.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018Every day. Like in a Swiss watch.\u2019 Marion whispered on a certain November evening, when the duo threw accusations at one another, like slabs of raw meat onto a butcher\u2019s counter (He has YET AGAIN left an ashtray filled to the brim with fags on the GODDAMN BED, She is a frigid bitch, He in turn fucks like a drunken snail with dementia, She shouldn\u2019t even open her mouth, cause He will punch her so hard she will see the Milky Way SHUT UP YOU SELFISH PRICK SHUT YOUR FACE YOU DUMB WHORE).<\/span><\/p>\n

In apartment 30 there lived an 80-year old widow. Marion enjoyed looking at her: the old lady\u2019s face (almost certainly the object of fantasies for multiple men) was covered in a thin shroud of wrinkles. Something, which for a contemporary society was a symbol of growing old, decay, evanescence, for Marion was almost a work of art \u2013 an amazing carving. Each and every tiny freckle, each ridge and fragment of saggy skin were like a story; a wonderful tale of a once ethereal, breathtaking woman, who outlived her husband, raised a bunch of children, grandchildren\u2026perhaps even great-grandchildren.<\/span><\/p>\n

The aged neighbor was an agreeable and open-minded person \u2013 Marion has been a guest to her numerous tea afternoons, sipped in the company of homemade shortbreads. The girl has swallowed the words coming from the lady\u2019s mouth with unabashed admiration, almost with captivation. Sometimes the sentences tasted like ripe, July cherries, sometimes \u2013 like fragrant morning coffee, other times \u2013 like the smell of worn out, yellowed pages from a photo album or a first kiss.<\/span><\/p>\n

Each and every human being had their own story. And Marion was aware of it all too well.<\/span><\/p>\n

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The Smell of Raspberries<\/em><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

The man is staring at the wall instead of looking me straight in the eye. A tear strolls down his cocoa cheek unwittingly \u2013 almost resembling a chip of crystal.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018Ya see, ma\u2019am, sometimes I can smell \u2018er hair. She washes it with \u2018dis shampoo that smells like raspberries. I could fall asleep with that smell, wake up next to it\u2026\u2019<\/span><\/p>\n

He pauses, takes a deep breath and wipes away the solitary tear with the back of his palm.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018When she comes to talk to me, she\u2019s so\u2026 frightened. Sometimes she cries, beggin\u2019 me for help. It makes \u2018er neck go red. \u2018Cause it\u2019s not \u2018er face, ya see, only the skin below \u2013 almost like her head was a separate being. I want to\u2026 stroke that skin on her neck. Calm down her breathin\u2019. Her breaths are so fast, like she is constantly runnin\u2019. I touch her in my thoughts and my thoughts only<\/em>. I drag my fingertips over her collarbones, glide them over her back, I draw circles on\u2026\u2019<\/span><\/p>\n

Here, the man clears his throat, blushing like a little boy caught red-handed while flipping through a skin magazine. He\u2019s rubbing his palms continuously, as if he is washing them.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018I wanna take care of that poor creature. She\u2019s still so young, twenty-four on her meter, I could help \u2018er\u2026 or at least I would try.\u2019<\/span><\/p>\n

The man absent-mindedly strokes a tiny dark mark on his temple. It\u2019s in the shape of a pear.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018I would take her\u2026 everywhere! The mountains, the beach, shoppin\u2019 \u2013 I would buy \u2018er records and books and\u2026 \u2018Cause she loves to read, ma\u2019am. Loves<\/em> it! She told me herself. I always see \u2018er with a book under \u2018er arm. She\u2019s into Nabokov lately. In my younger days he was taboo, Lolita<\/em> in particular, \u2018course. My ma\u2019 only dropped off Jack London and Terry Pratchett for me; all these books fo\u2019 young boys\u2026 Have you read Huckleberry Finn<\/em>? I\u2019ve read all of Twain\u2019s stuff. Couple hundred pages and y\u2019were somewhere else! These days, not so many people read. Did ya know that an average citizen reads one to three books a year, if at all?<\/span><\/p>\n

I guess that\u2019s why I spotted \u2018er. She never folds down the corners of pages to mark where she finished last. She has so many lovely bookmarks \u2013 colorful, made of leather, crocheted, bought at the flea market, brought back from one of \u2018er trips\u2026 Showed me her collection once, when she also brought a cobbler baked by her ma\u2019, as a thank you. So kind\u2026 And she chatters like a monkey, m\u2019am, I\u2019m tellin\u2019 ya. When she smiles, a little dimple peeks from \u2018er left cheek. Such a surprise, a dimple \u2013 as if \u2018er giggle wasn\u2019t enough! God\u2019s miracle, ma\u2019am, God\u2019s miracle, I tell ya. Just like the freckles on her nose \u2013 they look like raindrops splattered onto \u2018er skin, like they thought it\u2019s a damn good joke to squat on her nose. I often think of kissin\u2019 that frickin\u2019 freckly nose. I can sense her warmth and softness, like freshly baked bread. Her eyes\u2026 shinin\u2019 like snake skin.\u2019<\/span><\/p>\n

The man slowly stands up. His dark skin glistens in the afternoon sun; I see every pore and wrinkle on his face. He adjusts his clerical collar and brushes off his soutane.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018I would never do anything against that girl\u2019s will, m\u2019am. I\u2019d never hurt her. But I can\u2019t even touch \u2018er, gosh darn it. I can only thank God that he created \u2018er for me. And that sweet, sweet smell o\u2019 raspberries.\u2019<\/span><\/p>\n

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the dispossessed<\/em><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

they took away my meaning<\/span><\/p>\n

my article<\/span><\/p>\n

my name;<\/span><\/p>\n

ever since I remember<\/span><\/p>\n

my name held me in its arms<\/span><\/p>\n

like a mother cradles a weeping child<\/span><\/p>\n

shielding me from the cruel and bleak world<\/span><\/p>\n

I allowed my name to be ripped from my chest<\/span><\/p>\n

like a dream<\/span><\/p>\n

like a breath<\/span><\/p>\n

like a heart<\/span><\/p>\n

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death by misadventure<\/em><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

my thighs are cold<\/span><\/p>\n

like the winter sun<\/span><\/p>\n

and all these stories are intertwined<\/span><\/p>\n

with my neurons<\/span><\/p>\n

like tangled hairs and<\/span><\/p>\n

dead skin<\/span><\/p>\n

and they keep repeating<\/span><\/p>\n

how I am (re)born and (re)dead<\/span><\/p>\n

inside this gruesome<\/span><\/p>\n

misadventure<\/span><\/p>\n

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from Mars with love<\/em><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

I asked him what he sees in her<\/span><\/p>\n

he said \u201ethe sun,the moon,the stars\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I asked him what he sees in me<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201eblack holes,downpours and hurricanes\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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postrzeganie<\/em><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

podsk\u00f3rnie<\/span><\/p>\n

wij\u0105 mi si\u0119 pogl\u0105dy<\/span><\/p>\n

kt\u00f3re mimo \u017ce \u015blepn\u0105 od \u015bwiate\u0142<\/span><\/p>\n

pchaj\u0105 si\u0119 pod siatk\u00f3wk\u0119<\/span><\/p>\n

musz\u0119 je przeturla\u0107 na j\u0119zyk<\/span><\/p>\n

niech dojrzewaj\u0105 r\u00f3wno i stabilnie<\/span><\/p>\n

kwitn\u0105c jak drzewa owocowe wiosn\u0105<\/span><\/p>\n

one b\u0119d\u0105 si\u0119 ugina\u0107 od owoc\u00f3w<\/span><\/p>\n

w jesieni mojego \u017cycia<\/span><\/p>\n

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testament #1<\/em><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Chc\u0119 umrze\u0107 tak, by nikt nie zauwa\u017cy\u0142<\/span><\/p>\n

Chc\u0119 umrze\u0107 w ha\u0142asie<\/span><\/p>\n

zgie\u0142ku<\/span><\/p>\n

biegu;<\/span><\/p>\n

Chc\u0119 umrze\u0107 bole\u015bnie<\/span><\/p>\n

Wrzeszcz\u0105c i<\/span><\/p>\n

wij\u0105c si\u0119<\/span><\/p>\n

Bez morfiny<\/span><\/p>\n

I znieczulania umys\u0142u;<\/span><\/p>\n

Bez p\u0142aczek<\/span><\/p>\n

salw<\/span><\/p>\n

i stypy<\/span><\/p>\n

Odej\u015b\u0107 – wbrew wszystkiemu – pokornie<\/span><\/p>\n

i z doz\u0105<\/span><\/p>\n

godno\u015bci;<\/span><\/p>\n

Zarazem pragn\u0119 \u015bmierci poetyckiej<\/span><\/p>\n

Topieli jeziora<\/span><\/p>\n

Wst\u0105\u017cek krwi z podci\u0119tych \u017cy\u0142;<\/span><\/p>\n

Pragn\u0119 wspominek<\/span><\/p>\n

rozpaczy<\/span><\/p>\n

wi\u0105zanek przy trumnie;<\/span><\/p>\n

Lecz gdy tak robi\u0119 rachunek istnienia –<\/span><\/p>\n

Chcia\u0142abym umrze\u0107<\/span><\/p>\n

jakbym nigdy nie \u017cy\u0142a.<\/span><\/p>\n

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cynizm w postaci pi\u0142eczek tenisowych<\/em><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

pod moimi oknami spotka\u0142y si\u0119 –<\/span><\/p>\n

okruchy przesz\u0142ych mnie<\/span><\/p>\n

tocz\u0105 za\u017carte dysputy<\/span><\/p>\n

przekrzykuj\u0105 si\u0119 i pluj\u0105 jadem<\/span><\/p>\n

w ko\u0144cu<\/span><\/p>\n

zaprosi\u0142am je na mecz tenisa<\/span><\/p>\n

rozwin\u0119\u0142am siatk\u0119 wspomnie\u0144<\/span><\/p>\n

i rozda\u0142am rakiety<\/span><\/p>\n

(tamte robione z resztek moich si\u0142)<\/span><\/p>\n

okruchy grzecznie podzieli\u0142y mi\u0119dzy siebie<\/span><\/p>\n

cyniczne, twarde pi\u0142ki<\/span><\/p>\n

i odbijaj\u0105 tak ju\u017c, bez przerwy<\/span><\/p>\n

\u0142adnych par\u0119 lat<\/span><\/td>\n

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<\/td>\n<\/span><\/td>\nMelania Paszek | Publikacje<\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Eseje<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cCan Vampires Be Feminists? A Closer Look at Ana Lily Amirpour\u2019s A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night<\/em>.\u201d w: Spoofing the Vampire: What We Do in the Shadows and the Comedic Vampire<\/em> (ed. Simon Bacon, Ashley Szanter), McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers USA (przewidywana data publikacji: 2020\/2021);<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201eFamily Remains. Family Bonds against the Paranormal in The Haunting of Hill House<\/em> and Supernatural<\/em>\u201d w: The Streaming of Hill House. Essays on the Haunting Netflix Adaption<\/em>. (ed. Kevin J. Wetmore, Jr.), McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, USA. 2020 (ksi\u0105\u017cka dost\u0119pna do zakupu w Amazon<\/a>);<\/span><\/p>\n

Nudes, Likes <\/em>and VOD: <\/em>Representation <\/em>and <\/em>Influence <\/em>of <\/em>Contemporary <\/em>Media and <\/em>Social Networking<\/em> in<\/em> Cinema<\/em> and<\/em> Uniwersytet \u015al\u0105ski, Katowice. 2017 (esej oparty na wyk\u0142adzie, dost\u0119pny tu<\/a>);<\/span><\/p>\n

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Opowiadania<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

„A Point of Mew\u201d. Tint Journal<\/em>, Graz, Austria. 2019 (dost\u0119pne pod tu<\/a>);\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

„Stitches\u201d, WriCent Magazine no.1\/2016, Uniwersytet \u015al\u0105ski, Katowice. 2016.<\/span><\/p>\n

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Wiersze<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

„(un)finished sympathy\u201d oraz \u201emi\u0142osierdzie\u201d. La Feuille Flottante<\/em>, Wiede\u0144, Austria. 2018. (pierwszy tekst dost\u0119pny pod tym adresem<\/a>; drugi tekst dost\u0119pny w papierowym wydaniu zine\u2019a, dost\u0119pnym do zakupu pod tu<\/a>);<\/span><\/p>\n

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Blogi<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

blog The Nation\u2019s Tumor<\/em> po\u015bwi\u0119cony prozie: https:\/\/thenationstumor.wordpress.com\/<\/span><\/p>\n

blog grafomania<\/em> po\u015bwi\u0119cony poezji: https:\/\/marilynpalmer.tumblr.com\/<\/span><\/td>\n

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\u2660 Our Best and Brightest _______________ Melania Paszek A LIFE IN LITERATURE AND STUDIES IN AUSTRIA. Z ZAJ\u0118\u0106 NA FILOLOGII ANGIELSKIEJ DO GRAZ _______________ Melania Paszek jest absolwentk\u0105 studi\u00f3w I stopnia na kierunku filologia angielska na Uniwersytecie \u015al\u0105skim (rocznik \u201917, specj. kultura-media-translacja). Obecnie jest na ostatnim roku studi\u00f3w II stopnia na kierunku English & American […]<\/p>\n

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