My mother, God praise her soul, taught Polish in Warsaw, in a city where every façade carries bullet scars and
“The first step towards enslaving the mind is to narrow one’s perspective” Read More »
“The tongue can conceal the truth, but the eyes never!” — Mikhail Bulgakov, The Master and Margarita¹ The sentence hangs
Between them runs a wire Read More »
“…the call for unlimited births is imperialism, retaliation, a future war. The day on which Polish women would agree with
Bus Routes, Broken Prayers Read More »
The frost at Milanówek turned the cemetery into a pale theatre where vapour rose from men’s mouths and iron clicked
Fire on the Yenisei: Ferdynand Ossendowski Between Saddle and Script Read More »
Libraries carry an otherworldly charge within their walls the way summer hum carries in a hedgerow at noon, since breath
Dreamers of Éire: Reading a Nation into the Breath Read More »
(On Saint Augustine, Martin Luther, Erasmus of Rotterdam, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Søren Kierkegaard, and Robert Louis Stevenson’s Double Portrait
Permixtae: A Theology of Counterpoint Read More »
