Saturday, September 13, 2014

My Polish House Guest

My Polish house guest, after three weeks here in the Midwest, has returned to Poland. I trust that her stay was restful, restorative, and productive. Scholarly resources, not least the libraries and library hours, left her almost speechless, breathless with admiration. So much stuff. (The treasures of the Jagiellonian University in Krakรณw do not include library staffing until midnight—I remember when university libraries were open in the U.S. all night.) Except for her witnessing a physical altercation on the light-rail Green Line and dreaming, that is to say, bad-dreaming about Vladimir Putin, she reported only positive results, results so positive, that she sometimes imagines leaving Poland for the United States, or Sweden, or Ireland. Much as she loves her country, her patience with it, and hopes and fears for it, all attitudes tend in the wrong directions, respectively.

Her visit called to mind my accultural backsliding. I have not made significant progress since returning to the U.S. Language has languished. And while I have not wholly given up the project, I have not taken any concrete steps eastward. I can plead only laziness and negligence. Monika worried that her own disillusionment with Poland might have distempered my resolve, but in truth, I have few illusions about Poland, Polishness, or my project, even as I prefer to attend, when I attend at all, to their positives and curiosities. I must rediscover the occasion within, form some plans and stick to them. Very simple, discipline, but rarely easy.

Poland has been much in the news recently. Prime Minister Tusk has become the EU Council president. A squadron of U.S. helicopters put down in a field outside of Warsaw, owing to foul weather and fog. They represent a statement of solidarity with former central and east European satellites of the former Soviet Union. The Russians have embargoed Polish apples in response to EU sanctions over Putin’s many lethal mischiefs in Ukraine. I would eat a Polish apple in defiance of the Kremlin, even more than one, if I could get them here. And I’m not a particularly healthy eater. If war broke out, I think I should volunteer for the expatriate American brigade. Not having extensive soldiering skills, I probably wouldn’t survive, but falling in battle would likely earn me my White Eagle wings. There are many ways to become Polish.