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.
