Today marks the 30th anniversary of Marek Zulawski’s death, an appropriate day to share this passage he wrote about a friend’s funeral. Marek was a man who kept himself in prime health until his unexpected parting in 1985 – it seems his heart couldn’t keep up with the rest of him. The translated excerpt below is at once a meditation on age, death, virility and, of course, Marek’s own vanity.
Brompton Cemetery. Stefan Osiecki’s funeral.
From a distance, I could already see a group of people eagerly surrounding a fresh hole, on the bottom of which rests a coffin.… Keep reading