A propos de moi…

Je suis née le 28 avril à Zduńska Wola, en Pologne.
Je suis poétesse, journaliste et bibliothécaire. Comme poétesse j’ai debuté en 1985 ou 1986 à „Nowy Medyk”. Mes poèmes ont été publiés entre autres à: „Topos”, „Wyspa”, „Akant”, „Tygiel Kultury”, „Poezja Dzisiaj”, „Przekrój”, „Metafora”, „Filipinka”, „Galeria”, „Angora”, dans un magazine américain „Modern haiku” et dans les antologies „Contemporary writers of Poland” (USA 2005), „Enough Questions, Enough Answers : Modern Polish Poetry in Translation” (Rice University, Houston, 2008), „Uwalniam ptaki sny : Ich befreie Vogel – Traume – Wiersze polskie i niemieckie: Deutsche und polnische Gedichte” (Łódź 2009), ”Oblaci u najkracoj noci : Clouds in the shortest night” – svetska haiku antologija: World Haiku Anthology”(Valjevo – Belgrad 2009).
J’ai publié sept livres poetiques: „Poezja przypadków”, „Zupełnie szczęśliwa marionetka”, „Może się przyśnisz”, „Nieopisanie” „I pomyśleć że jesteś”, „Kora” et „Galeria Świat”.
Comme journaliste je coopere à la presse de Sieradz, où j’habite, et au mensuel culturel de Łódź „Kalejdoskop”. J’ai fondé et je dirige un groupe littéraire „Anima”.


Traduction: Tomasz Duszka


x x x
je me trouve dans la forêt
les bouleaux me bénissent avec
ses rameaux



x x x
premier amour
comme un éclair
montre le net ciel
puis longtemps



x x x
les yeux d’animaux
sont toujours purs
les animaux n’ont ni âme
ni remords
ils me regardent
je n’ai pas le courage
de regarder dans leurs yeux





x  x x

un sot rustique
il s’assoit à côté de tombe de sa mère
en embrassant ses genoux avec ses bras
et en se balançant
il répete:
maman en terre
terre en maman…




x x x
je serai chez toi aujourd’hui
mon cœur au dessus de moi
comme une alouette




x x x
le gris a beaucoup de nuances
j’ai aperçu cela récemment
dans tes yeux




x x x
parfois j’envie
à un chien
que tu caresses




x x x
la prière
– le repoussement de ténébres





x x x
nous ne savons rien toujours
nous sommes comme les enfants
restants debout sur le pas de la porte




x x x
tu m’as donnée l’amour
comme une pierre

comme une lame coupante
tu m’as donnée l’amour
pleine de lumière et d’air pur



x x x
les arbres
– ce qui nous a resté
du paradis




x x x
le reflet le plus fidèle de ce monde
n’est pas le visage
d’un méchant
ni d’un bon homme
ni de celui
qui sait
presque tout
le visage d’un idiot




x x x
si insignifiants
mes paroles pour moi-même
si bizarre
qu’il y a mon visage
dans une glace
si loin de vous
mes proches



x x x
mon cœur
qui était déjà mort
mon cœur
qui n’espérait
qu’il peut être encore touché
par un feu


About me

I was born on April, 28th in Zduńska Wola, Poland.
I am a poet, journalist and librarian. As a poet I debuted in 1981 in „Nowy Medyk”. My poems have also been published in „Tygiel Kultury”, „Poezja Dzisiaj”, „Przekrój”, „Metafora”, „Filipinka”, „Topos”, „Modern Haiku” (USA), „Reibeisen” (Austria), „Bdenje” (Serbia) and in the following antologies:
– „Contemporary Writers of Poland”  (USA 2005),
– „Enough Questions, Enough Answers : Modern Polish Poetry in Translation” ( Rice Uniwersity w Houston, 2008),
– „Uwalniam ptaki sny : Ich befreie Vogel – Traume – Polish and German poems: Deutsche und polnische Gedichte” (Łódź 2009),
-”Oblaci u najkracoj noci : Clouds in the shortest night” – svetska haiku antologija: World Haiku Anthology”(Valjevo – Belgrad 2009),
– „Meine Welt – unsere Welt : Lyrik und Prosa”  (Germany 2011).
I am a laureate of many literature competitions and C. K. Norwid Poetry International Competition. I have published seven books of poetry: „Poezja przypadków” („Poetry of Accidents”), „Zupełnie szczęśliwa marionetka” („A Quite Happy Puppet”), „Może się przyśnisz” („Maybe You’ll be Dreamed About”), „Nieopisanie” („Undescription”), „I pomyśleć,  że jesteś” („And Thinking, You Do Exist”,  „Kora” („Bark”),  „Galeria świat” („Gallery World”) and „Freienwill”
As a journalist I work with Sieradz press (the city where I live) and Łódź cultural monthly journal „Kalejdoskop”. I run a library in a hospital in Sieradz.



Translation:  Marek Marciniak & Kalina Duszka


x x x


the eyes of animals
are always pure


the animals do not have a soul
or remorse
it looks at me


I do not have curage
to look them in the eyes




x x x


a village crackpot
sits at his mother grave


embracing his knees
and rocking he is repeats:
mother in the ground
the ground in mother




x x x


years are going by
and empty


I’m waiting for several summer days
the touch of your lips
must suffice
for next year
or forever


blood in my veins
changes in expectation
and turning me
to your side
there is nothing better
than your arms




x x x


I was at the bottom
not once


I was in the depth
My Lord saved me


He sent for me
when I was at the bottom



x x x


I’m lying in forest
birches are blessing me
with their branches




x x x


the first love
like a lightning
shows an open sky


then for a long time






I loved the moon
and when it
turned away
my silver way
ended suddenly


I had not know
that there could be
so far
to stars
and to poeple




x x x


sometimes I envy
the dog
which you pet




x x x


I have hung your jacket
in my wardrobe


all my clothes
want to be close to it




x x x


when you are silent
silence is
like just before
the end of my world


when you are speaking
I am obedient your whisper
and I am dancing on the back of your hand



x x x


you tell me:
you want everything


and for me it is enough
to look through the window
at your side
and think
that you exist




x x x


before I met you
I had liked just
that brich forest
dark vivid strip of alder
and tender air above it
It had been enough
to fulfill my need
to worship something


and you have come
you veiled the trees meadow
and the same as they do
with calmness and indifference
you accept my love






we parted without words
time of becoming used to


only when I came here
grass and mulleins
are asking
what I am doing here
without you




x x x


greyness has many colours
I have discovered it recently
in your eyes




x x x


I have said goodbye to that love so many times
yellowed leaves were carpeting it
time like a mist
was separating us


one summer
we could not find each other
and we though
– nothing would save us anymore


but suddenly
the dried leaves are falling of it
the mist is melting
and our love is green again




x x x


he looked through the window
in a very misty morning:
“oh, there is no world…”





x x x


– are what is left for us
from paradise




x x x


22 years
after the beginning of our love
we talk about men
that live double life
-they have wife and lovers
(because they can afford that)


I ask
if you would like to live like they do

you reply
“I think I would like to have doubled you”




x x x


June is like
eighteen years old




x x x


look through the window
(there is
nearly always)

a poem around




Translation: Marek Marciniak

x x  x

in memory of people close to me


and it seemed

they would last forever

in that camomile yard

in that warm house

in that safe bed


time blows them up one after another


A Goodnight Phone Talk


Version 1:

– Hold on…

– What am I to hold?

– My love


Version 2:


– Keep well…

– What am I to keep?

– My love


x x x

love was for you

„ a horrible word

meaning fucking and subjugation”


love was the word

you did not utter


once you said to me:

„ coming here

brings me pleasure,

not coming here brings me pain”


„let it be so

until it is so”


yesterday I got books

returned by you

on top there was

a collection of poems

by Majakovski „I love”






with his love

is unprotected




Oh, to hug myself

to the thought of you

and to fall asleep




What does loneliness

consist of?






I have my head in the clouds

I have a poem in my head

a never-ending poem of you




you logged

in my head


your gentle words

follow me


our voices


by phone




we remain

in modern relationships

free and open

with the fading hope for

the occurrence

of the old-fashioned relationship

wonderfully closed









„ I hate women

I am a womanizer

I am a virtuous man”,

you introduced yourself to me day by day


„ he is a poet

though he is not aware of it”,

so said about you

our common female friend




Where are poetesses from?



I was a girl

of a bad home


but my yard


a holy birch wood


but a rich red rose

gave its flowers to us

through the window


and mum used to sing songs

once she told me

she would go mad

if she could not sing


everything turned into poetry


The Gallery WORLD


snow flakes

tree leaves:

none is to be repeated


God is a perfectional artist