morze nocą jest mięśniem serca (the sea at night is a muscle of the heart)

We can carry history on our backs, like Käthe Kollwitz, fill its melancholic balloons with lead, like W.G. Sebald, try not to remember it like Cioran, hear its incessant echo like Samuel Beckett, or try to catch it in flagrante like Tiziano Terzani. What was the history for Ruth Maier, who sheltered herself from the Holocaust in Norway and found her beloved poet Gunvor Hofmo there? How was it written into the biography of the love of the poet Edith Södergran to the editor Hagar Olsson? Whoever writes about history lives in history, even if history simultaneously - as Hannah Arendt wanted - pushes us forward.

Published by Duh i Litera in translation to Ukrainian by Natalia Belchenko. Norwegian (House of Foundation) publications forthcoming. English, Spanish, Italian, German translations in progress.