Chopin’s birth place, Żelazowa Wola, was about an hour train ride west of Warsaw. Dominating this tiny village of 65 people (according to Wikipedia) is the historical museum with a visitor center. Chopin was six months old when the family moved from Żelazowa Wola to Warsaw. The house lay in ruins for many years and was rebuilt into a nobler house to commemorate the composer in the 1930’s. It was a chilly autumn day with sun and rain intermittent. There were many spiky shells and what appeared to be chestnuts on the ground. We were overjoyed! Gathered a whole bagful and took them back to cook. Alas the inside was bitter.
The Rebirth of Żelazowa Wola
Romance, laced with purpose
handles nature with white gloves
so that each utterance
whether a splatter of rain
a fiery bush among golden willows
or fallen leaves masking an autumn stream
is as delicate as the man—
his curled hair
his distinctive nose
his melancholic eyes
—is as sensitive as his fingers caressing the keyboard
as if it was a woman’s breast.
The house that was
burnt down ages ago.
It sheltered him as an infant
and bore the rawness of his cries.
The house that is,
a black and white elegant period structure
situates at the back of a reflective pond.
The immense garden, sloping hills,
his statues, now pensive with his hand on his heart,
now with a wing-like cape,
all bear semblance to the unattainable.
Piano music flows in the air, in a minor key.
Serenity, in this manifestation
seduces the pilgrims,
star gazers of the imagination,
they sleep walk
from one dream sequence to the next.
But for the lover who left his homeland
beauty was the clump of soil he held in his hand.
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Photo by Millie Siu.
I like this series and this segment particularly, nicely done, but I thought I’d pass along a rumor, regarding chestnuts … There is something about soaking them for a while before roasting them. The soaking, I think, removes the bitterness. I have a vague memory from childhood about that.