Friday 28 August 2026
Visiting Joseph Conrad’s grave in England (his full, Polish name was Józef Teodor Konrad Korzeniowski) always had been a destination on My Life List. Like Antoni Gaudí’s Barcelona, Canterbury Cemetery—where Conrad is buried—was among the first, oldest entries on my traveler’s checklist. And like Gaudí’s Barcelona, I had been longing to pay homage to Joseph Conrad for over thirty years.
Reader, on your behalf, I now ask myself a similar question I posed in an earlier blog (why had I procrastinated visiting Gaudí’s architectural masterworks?): if Joseph Conrad mattered so greatly to me, why had I delayed my pilgrimage to his grave?
Last year, my scheduled date for my open-heart surgery fast-tracked my urgency to visit more of my dream destinations, and to complete more of my longed-for experiences. At that point, I believed I had lived “a pretty decent life.” I had achieved several unique and unusual experiences. I already met and befriended some truly unforgettable people. I was a published author. I taught at some of the premier American universities. Foolishly I initially convinced myself: “at least you’ve accomplished some goals, saw some places… you didn’t sit home and did nothing… like so many other people do.”
Quickly I scolded myself: “But what about Barcelona? Sedona, Arizona? What about getting the Katyn book (finally) published? What about seeing where Nicholas goes to college? What about… what about… what about.”
“What are you waiting for? ‘Time’? ‘Money’? …. Well, Danny-boy, you’re running out of time. Your heart is crapping out on you. You should have done this and that earlier… when you had the chance. Now what? Why did you ‘WAIT’? What made you ‘AFRAID”? Steve always told you: ‘just go. Fuck the money. Just go.’ You didn’t (always) listen to him. He spoke the truth… the Truth. You went to Alaska; you went to the Baltics; you went to Rome; you went to Paris… partly because you wanted to prove to him that you ‘COULD’ do it… that you ‘DID’ (finally) go,” I continued lecturing myself.
“Why didn’t you do more”? I upbraided myself.
Not travelling the world shouldn’t ever be wistfully apologized for. Not experiencing life shouldn’t ever be romantically explained away.
Disillusionment hurts but instigates growth. Like so many other life-lessons, I learned Socrates’ principle: “the unexamined life is not worth living” (Apology), with a slight alteration, the hard way: the unlived life is not worth living. Thankfully, the realization arrived when I still could do something with the knowledge.
Immediately following my cardiac surgeon appointment, I booked flights, hotel, car, and excursion tickets (for example, Antelope Canyon and outdoor red rock vortex yoga) for Sedona, Arizona—another of my then “Must See” getaways. The anxiety leading up to 15 May 2025 (the surgery) was eased by not only the urgency to negate the tragedy of the “unfulfilled life” but also to activate the precedence to “examine” and to “experience” more fully my life.
No longer could I put up with another should-have visited place, another could-have done activity.
Ever since senior year of high school, I became fascinated with Joseph Conrad. I felt letdown and indignant when I wasn’t assigned to read Conrad in my English class. “Why couldn’t I be reading Heart of Darkness like the so-called Honors English students? I read Dante’s Inferno on my own; I chose Dante for ‘Independent Reading Day.’ Why should I only watch Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now?” I vented to my seventeen-year-old self.
Years later, I even complained to my retired high school English teacher: “I was not happy about ‘just watching’ Apocalypse Now.” She understood.
When I met Steve for the first time, he was “Professor Ressler,” not yet “Steve.” He was my undergraduate Composition II instructor. Among other novellas and short stories that he had assigned for the so-called big Research paper, Heart of Darkness stood out from the rest. Of course, I chose Conrad to prove the point: the so-called Honors English guys weren’t the only ones smart enough to read Heart of Darkness. I, too, wanted to struggle with the immense political and philosophical questions of the novella. I, too, wanted to feel overwhelmed by Heart of Darkness’ existential and moral crises. I, too, wanted to not understand everything I was reading. As if those so-called Honors English students—who were the same age I was—understood everything Conrad was writing about!
I explained my choice of Conrad to Professor Ressler. He grimaced. I didn’t understand, then, Steve’s bitter smile. Professor Ressler demystified matters but also perplexed me: “You gravitated toward Conrad for another reason. You just don’t know it, yet.” Truly I didn’t; my eighteen-year-old self couldn’t imagine what the source of this magnetism was. In hindsight, of course, everything made sense.
Professor Ressler wrote and published his dissertation: Joseph Conrad: Consciousness and Integrity (1988, NYU Press). “Don’t read it, yet,” he cautioned; “you’re not ready for it,” he added. Professor Ressler wrote a list of analytical books and biographies that might help me to understand better Conrad.
One of those biographies was Zdzisław Najder’s Joseph Conrad, a chronicle (1983, Rutgers University Press). “ ‘Zdzisław’? That’s a Polish name!” I exclaimed. Stunned, I skimmed through Najder’s book. “Conrad was Polish? His name was Józef Teodor Konrad Korzeniowski!” I shouted in disbelief. Conrad’s paternal grandfather Teodor fought for Napoleon during the Russian campaign; his grandfather also fought the Russian Empire during the November 1830 Uprising. Conrad’s father Apollo was a revolutionary who fought to restore Poland’s Pre-Partitions borders and adopt land reform and abolish serfdom. When living in Russian Imperial occupied Warsaw and joining a group there to overthrow the Russians, Apollo was arrested by Russian authorities, and was imprisoned in Pavilion X—the political prisoner wing—of the Warsaw Citadel. The experience of visiting his jailed father in the Warsaw Citadel imprinted itself on Conrad’s mind. In May 1862, Russian authorities punished Apollo further by exiling him and his family to Vologda, north of Moscow, and then to Chernihiv—in today’s Ukraine. Ironic or not, the Polish January Uprising—another unsuccessful revolt against the tsar—launched on 22 January 1863.
What a background! Heart of Darkness began to make more sense to me: colonialism/imperialism; racism/exploitation; exile/punishment; romanticism/disillusionment; authoritarianism/demagoguery; heroism/cowardice; patriotism/ethnicity; environmental catastrophe/genocide; good/evil.
Some many—too many motifs! What to write about for Professor Ressler’s course paper?
Approximately two to four years later, I reconnected with Professor Ressler, asking him to become a personal tutor. Quickly, Professor Ressler became Steve, and Steve became family.
When pursuing my Master’s degree, I took a course that melded methodology, theory, and other topics a graduate English Literature student should learn. The primary project was writing a proposal, literature review, and the like about a theme or writer. Naturally I chose Joseph Conrad. Part of the proposal was explaining or justifying your project’s choice. I wrote a less personal but demonstrative intellectual appeal showcasing my familiarity with Conrad. The professor awarded me a less than mediocre grade, reprimanding me for “going over well-tilled soil” with Conrad. Choose another topic.” Devastated, I chose a writer I had discovered in a bookstore display. Herman Melville would appear on my horizon the following semester.
This harsh discouragement terminated any future prospect of writing my dissertation on Joseph Conrad. I nursed the intellectual and moral bruise by telling myself: “maybe it’s better this way. After reading Steve’s Conrad book, I have nothing new or different to say.” Sometimes during late-night insomnia episodes, I still wonder: “What if I fought and resisted harder, and insisted on writing about Joseph Conrad?” The dilemma has become less painful but remains a beguiling conundrum. What if I had stayed with Conrad, what might have been the next scholarly project?
Nonetheless, I referred to Joseph Conrad in my Herman Melville dissertation. I have borrowed and incorporated the phrase “heart of darkness” into my classroom lectures and scholarly writings. Joseph Conrad remains a steadfast mentor, an enormously significant figure in my personal and intellectual life. Since Steve’s passing, I have reread several times Conrad’s Under Western Eyes—Steve’s most favorite Conrad work; moreover, for Steve, Under Western Eyes explained everything about Conrad.
After Steve’s death in Autumn 2020, I heard the call to visit Joseph Conrad’s grave. Going to Canterbury Cemetery preoccupied me. The longer I dallied my time, the further away Conrad’s grave seemed to become. Other travel destinations beckoned. Drafting and then revising the Katyn manuscript took me two summers to complete. My open-heart surgery happened last summer. The guilt was compounding.
I visited Barcelona (for the first time) in January 2026. For Nicholas’ high school graduation present, we visited England. I had travelled to England thirty years ago; therefore, not only was I going back to familiar England, in many ways, I was going to a new and very different England in July 2026.
Thirty years ago, I didn’t have the means to see “Everything” I had wanted to see in England. I saw some of it. Back then, I didn’t go to Canterbury for either Geoffrey Chaucer or Joseph Conrad. I honestly also didn’t imagine that I would return to England; therefore, seeing Conrad’s grave was a missed opportunity.
If something is missing in your life, go find it. No matter how long ago you lost it, go retrieve it. You needn’t give up on it—if it means something, reclaim it.
Finding Joseph Conrad’s grave was easy. I watched a YouTube video. Watching the video, I realized that Conrad’s grave was situated on one of the corners of Canterbury Cemetery; I also noticed that the cemetery walls were close to it, too.
Walking through Canterbury Cemetery’s gates, I found a sign depicting where exactly Conrad’s grave was located. Even easier. I don’t think the walk to Conrad’s spot took two minutes. My procession to Conrad’s grave felt strangely familiar. While composing his Conrad dissertation, Steve visited this site. And now, this journey had become my pilgrimage, too.
Before the trip to England, I packed Steve’s Conrad book and my Melville book. I needed to take a photograph of the four of us: Conrad, Melville, Steve, and me. A transcendental experience, for sure. A treasure, indeed.
Since 2021, I have been purchasing used copies of Steve’s Conrad book. The act has become a loving act of memory.
I hate the vision of Steve’s Conrad book collecting dust, sitting on a stranger’s bookshelf—perhaps never to be purchased by someone else. I like to think that I’m the fictional captain of the Rachel in Melville’s Moby-Dick. Rachel’screw was searching for its own lost sailors, but instead rescued Ishamel, the lone survivor of the Pequod.
I like to think that I’m bringing Steve’s books back home, back to port. Steve’s Conrad book no longer is an orphaned Ishmael, bobbing in the dangerous deep waters of oblivion.
