All Souls Day this week, Zaduszki, and All Saints, though I have less to do with them—and they with me. The souls, however, the old, the dead and the lost, are my preferred company; they’re quiet, wistful, wise, and don’t eat a lot. The Poles observe, even celebrate All Souls, with food and fire in the cemeteries in a way little imaginable in the squeamish U.S. A candlelight picnic among the tombs and stones would seem morbid here. Sources infer, and I’m happy to believe, in the holiday’s pagan origins: food to appease the dead and candles to light their way elsewhere, redirect their wandering. I’ve lighted my own candle here in the study, and Joanna Koslowska, soprano, calls out now on CD to the composer himself, Henryk Gorecki, lately enrolled among the souls. The somberly perfect start to November, listopad, the month of the fallen leaves.
Our third quiz returned Tuesday night, the class spent All Saints eating pizza and watching Andrzej Wajda’s film version of Mickiewicz’s Pan Tadeusz. I’d forgotten most of the story line, having read a translation some years ago and not followed it terribly well in translation. The Wajda viewed excellently, refreshed my memory, and renewed my love of all language not grammar. How I miss literature.
Poland has distinguished itself on two counts this week. A LOT pilot succeeded in belly-landing a Boeing 767 with 230 passengers after the landing gear failed to deploy. I was reminded of my second trip to Poland, in which my LOT seatmate, more or less out of the blue, complimented Polish airmanship as second to none. I was not aware that it had been questioned. I was not aware that Poland had had a particularly illustrious flight tradition. The heavy cavalry, the husaria, were magnificently winged, but they never actually took flight. And Sikorski, the WWII president in exile, became the namesake of a helicopter. At any rate, Poland has produced a hero, and, also noteworthy, the most successful economy for growth in Europe in these troubled times. No joke.
