In the West I would undoubtedly have been a ‘writer of dark things’, the kind that sounds the horn of pessimism, predicts the end of Europe, the senselessness of human endeavour and of the whole evolution of our species. Here, in this intellectual and economic wreckage, I blow the trumpet of morality and the meaningfulness of our existence.
[Zygmunt Mycielski]
What I mean is
that I do not see you,
that in my blindness you
have known me, that there
are walls to climb and no ropes,
that in spite of myself I look up,
reaching, wrap my fingertips
into the rock, send my toes
searching for a crack,
an edge, a place to start.