Poet of the Month 093: HALINA POSWIATOWSKA

 

 

HALINA POSWIATOWSKA, c 1955

 

 

 

 

I LIKE LONGING

 

 

I like longing

climbing up the railings of sound and colour

catching into my open mouth

the frozen scent

 

I like my loneliness

suspended higher

than a bridge

embracing the sky with its arms

 

and my love 

walking barefoot 

over the snow

 

 

 

Dzien dzisiejszy

[Present Day]

1963

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I LACK FORMER TENDERNESS

 

 

I lack former tenderness for my body

yet I tolerate it like a beast of burden

useful though it requires much care

it brings pain and joy and pain and joy

sometimes inert from pleasure

sometimes shelter for sleep

 

I know its twisted hallways

can tell which way exhaustion comes

which tendons laughter tenses

and I remember the unique taste of tears

so like the taste of blood

 

my thoughts — a flock of frightened birds

feed on the field of my body

I lack my former tenderness towards it

yet feel more acutely than before

that I reach no further than my outstretched arms

and no higher than I can rise on the tips of my toes
 

 

Oda do rak

[Ode To Hands, 1966]

 

 

 

 

Both poems translated by

MAYA PERETZ

 

 

 

 

 

Halina Poswiatowska (née Myga) was born in the southern Polish city of Czestochowa on 9 May 1935.  During the 1945 liberation of the city from Nazi occupation she and her parents were forced to seek shelter in a damp freezing basement for a prolonged period of time, leading her to develop the chronic heart condition that would prematurely end her life on 11 October 1967 at the age of thirty-two. 

 

Obliged to spend much of her childhood in hospitals and sanitoriums, she developed an early interest in writing and poetry.  In 1954, against the cautionary advice of her doctors, she married her fellow hospital patient, the artist and apprentice filmmaker Adolf Rzszyard Poswiatowska.  The marriage lasted two years, ending with her husband's death in 1956.

 

Two years later the young widow traveled to the United States to undergo heart surgery, a journey largely funded by donations received from sympathetic Polish-Americans.  1958 also saw her publish Hymn balwochwalzy [Idol Worship], her debut volume of poetry.  This was followed by two more collections — Dzien dzisiejszy [Present Day, 1963] and Oda do rak [Ode to Hands, 1966] — and her final collection Jeszcze jedno wspomnienie [One More Memory] which appeared posthumously in 1968. 

 

Rather than return to Poland after undergoing her dangerous but life prolonging operation, Poswiatowska chose to remain in the United States, living a hand to mouth existence while she applied for a scholarship to study philosophy at Smith College in Massachussetts.  (She did this despite having no fluency in English at that time.)  She graduated from Smith in 1961 and, after refusing an offer to continue her studies at Stanford University in California, returned to her homeland where she enrolled as a philosophy student at Jagiellonian University in Krakow.  She was working on her doctorate, a study of the ethical principles of black civil rights activist Martin Luther King, when she died eight days after undergoing a second major heart operation which she had hoped would improve her rapidly deteriorating health.

Never a mainstream poet, Poswiatowska's work gained little recognition during her lifetime, only coming to be fully appreciated after her death — a reappraisal that has continued in subsequent decades and now sees her regarded as one of Poland's leading modern poets.

 

 

Use the link below to read more poems (in English) by Polish poet HALINA POSWIATOWSKA:

 

https://allpoetry.com/Halina-Poswiatowska

 

 

 

 

 

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Poet of the Month 038: EWA LIPSKA

 

 

 

Poet of the Month 027: ADAM ZAGAJEWSKI

 

 

 

Poet of the Month 020: ANNA SWIRSZCZYNSKA

 

  

Think About It 076: WISLAWA SZYMBORSKA

All sorts of torturers, dictators, fanatics, and demagogues struggling for power… they 'know.'  They know, and whatever they know is enough for them once and for all.  They don’t want to find out about anything else, since that might diminish their arguments' force.  And any knowledge that doesn’t lead to new questions quickly dies out:  it fails to maintain the temperature required for sustaining life.  In the most extreme cases, cases well known from ancient and modern history, it even poses a lethal threat to society.

      This is why I value that little phrase, 'I don’t know' so highly.  It’s small, but it flies on mighty wings.  It expands our lives to include the spaces within us as well as those outer expanses in which our tiny Earth hangs suspended.

 

Nobel Prize acceptance speech (1996)

 

 

 

Use the links below to read about the life and work of Polish poet, essayist and Nobel laureate WISLAWA SZYMBORSKA (1923–2012):

 
http://www.poemhunter.com/wislawa-szymborska/

https://culture.pl/en/article/9-secret-sides-of-szymborska

 

 

 

 

 

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Poet of the Month 058: CZESLAW MILOSZ

CZESLAW MILOSZ   
c 1980

 

 

NORMALIZATION

 

This happened long ago, before the onset
of universal genetic correctness.

 

Boys and girls would stand naked before mirrors
studying the defects of their structure.

 

Nose too long, ears like burdocks,
sunken chin just like a mongoloid.

 

Breasts too small, too large, lopsided shoulders,
penis too short, hips too broad or else too narrow.

 

And just an inch or two taller!

 

Such was the house they inhabited for life.

 

Hiding, feigning, concealing defects.

 

But somehow they still had to find a partner.

 

Following incomprehensible tastes –– airy creatures
paired with potbellies, skin and bones enamored of salt pork.

 

They had a saying then: 'Even monsters
have their mates.'  So perhaps they learned to tolerate their partner's flaws, trusting that theirs would be forgiven in turn.

 

Not every genetic error meets with such
disgust that crowds might spit on them and stone them.

 

As it happened in the city of K, where the town council
voted to exile a girl

 

So thickset and squat
that no stylish dress could ever suit her,

 

But let's not yearn for the days of prenormalization.
Just think of the torments, the anxieties, the sweat,
the wiles needed to entice, in spite of all.

 

 

 

from Collected Poems 1931-1987

 

 

 

 

 

Translated by

  

CLARE CAVANAGH

 

 

 

The following (edited) biographical statement appears on the website of The Poetry Foundation.  [It is re-posted here for information purposes only and, like the poem re-posted above, remains its author's exclusive copyright-protected intellectual property.]

Czeslaw Milosz ranks among the most respected figures in twentieth-century Polish literature, as well as one of the most respected contemporary poets in the world: he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1980.  Born in Lithuania, where his parents moved temporarily to escape the political upheaval in their native Poland, as an adult, he left Poland due to the oppressive Communist regime that came to power following World War II and lived in the United States from 1960 until his death in 2004.  Milosz’s poems, novels, essays, and other works are written in his native Polish and translated by the author and others into English.  Having lived under the two great totalitarian systems of modern history, national socialism and communism, Milosz wrote of the past in a tragic, ironic style that nonetheless affirmed the value of human life.  While the faith of his Roman Catholic upbringing was severely tested, it remained intact. Terrence Des Pres, writing in The Nation, stated that 'political catastrophe has defined the nature of our… [age], and the result — the collision of personal and public realms — has produced a new kind of writer. Czeslaw Milosz is the perfect example. In exile from a world which no longer exists, a witness to the Nazi devastation of Poland and the Soviet takeover of Eastern Europe, Milosz deals in his poetry with the central issues of our time: the impact of history upon moral being, the search for ways to survive spiritual ruin in a ruined world.'

 

Born in Lithuania in 1911, Milosz spent much of his childhood in Czarist Russia, where his father worked as a civil engineer.  After World War I the family returned to their hometown, which had become a part of the new Polish state, and Milosz attended local Catholic schools.  He published his first collection of poems, Poemat o czasie zastyglym [Poem of the Frozen Time], at the age of twenty-one.  Milosz was associated with the Catastrophist school of poets during the 1930s.  The writings of this group of poets ominously foreshadowed World War II; when the war began in 1939, and Poland was invaded by Nazi Germany and Soviet Russia, Milosz worked with the underground Resistance movement in Warsaw, writing and editing several books published clandestinely during the occupation. One of these books, a collection titled Wiersze [Poems], was published under the pseudonym J. Syruc.  Following the war, Milosz became a member of the new communist government’s diplomatic service and was stationed in Paris, France, as a cultural attaché.  In 1951, he left this post and defected to the West.

 

The Captive Mind explains Milosz’s reasons for defecting and examines the life of the artist under a communist regime.  Milosz defected when he was recalled to Poland from his position at the Polish embassy. He refused to leave. Joseph McLellan of the Washington Post quoted Milosz explaining: 'I knew perfectly well that my country was becoming the province of an empire.' In a speech before the Congress for Cultural Freedom, quoted by James Atlas of the New York Times, Milosz declared: 'I have rejected the new faith because the practice of the lie is one of its principal commandments and socialist realism is nothing more than a different name for a lie.' After his defection Milosz lived in Paris, where he worked as a translator and freelance writer. In 1960 he was offered a teaching position at the University of California at Berkeley, which he accepted. He became an American citizen in 1970.

 

In The Seizure of Power, first published in France as La Prise du pouvoir in 1953, Milosz renders as fiction much of the same material found in The Captive Mind.  The book is an autobiographical novel that begins with the Russian occupation of Warsaw at the close of World War II. The novel ends with the disillusioned protagonist, a political education officer for the communists, immigrating to the West.   After living in the United States for a time, Milosz began to write of his new home.  In Native Realm: A Search for Self-Definition and Visions from San Francisco Bay, Milosz compares and contrasts the West with his native Poland.

 

In Visions from San Francisco Bay Milosz examines his life in contemporary California, a place far removed in distance and temperament from the scenes of his earlier life.  His observations are often sardonic, and yet he is also content with his new home.  The opening words of the book are 'I am here,' and from that starting point Milosz describes the society around him. Although Milosz’s comments about life in California could be oblique and arch, 'underlying all his meditations,' commented Leon Edel in the New York Times Book Review, 'is his constant "amazement" that America should exist in this world — and his gratitude that it does exist.'

 

The story of Milosz’s odyssey from East to West is also recounted in his poetry.    Speaking of his poetry in the essay collection The Witness of Poetry, Milosz stresses the importance of his nation’s cultural heritage and history in shaping his work. 'My corner of Europe,' he states, 'owing to the extraordinary and lethal events that have been occurring there, comparable only to violent earthquakes, affords a peculiar perspective.  As a result, all of us who come from those parts appraise poetry slightly differently than do the majority of my audience, for we tend to view it as a witness and participant in one of mankind’s major transformations.'

 

Milosz articulated a fundamental difference in the role of poetry in the capitalist West and the communist East.  Western poetry, as Alfred Kazin wrote in the New York Times Book Review, is ' "alienated" poetry, full of introspective anxiety.'  But because of the dictatorial nature of communist government, poets in the East cannot afford to be preoccupied with themselves.  They are drawn to write of the larger problems of their society. 'A peculiar fusion of the individual and the historical took place,' Milosz wrote in The Witness of Poetry, 'which means that events burdening a whole community are perceived by a poet as touching him in a most personal manner. Then poetry is no longer alienated.'

 

For many years Milosz’s poetry was little noticed in the United States, though he was highly regarded in Poland.  Recognition in Poland came in defiance of official government resistance to Milosz’s work.  The communist regime refused to publish the books of a defector; for many years only underground editions of his poems were secretly printed and circulated in Poland.  But in 1980, when Milosz was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature, the communist government was forced to relent.  A government-authorized edition of Milosz’s poems was issued and sold a phenomenal 200,000 copies.  One sign of Milosz’s widespread popularity in Poland occurred when Polish workers in Gdansk unveiled a monument to their comrades who were shot down by the communist police.  Two quotations were inscribed on the monument: one was taken from the Bible; the other was taken from a poem by Milosz.

 

The Nobel Prize also brought Milosz to the attention of a wider audience in the United States.  After 1980 several of his earlier works were translated into English, while his new books received widespread critical attention.  The poet’s image also graced a postage stamp in Poland.  Some of this public attention focused less on Milosz’s work as poetry than 'as the work of a thinker and political figure; the poems tend to be considered en masse, in relation either to the condition of Poland, or to the suppression of dissident literature under Communist rule, or to the larger topic of European intellectual history,' as critic Helen Vendler maintained. But most reviewers have commented on Milosz’s ability to speak in a personal voice that carries with it the echoes of his people’s history.

 

Because he lived through some of the great upheavals of twentieth-century Eastern Europe, and because his poetry fuses his own experiences with the larger events in his society, many of Milosz’s poems concern loss, destruction, and despair.  Milosz believed that one of the major problems of contemporary society — in both the East and the West — is its lack of a moral foundation. Writing in The Land of Ulro, he finds that modern man has only 'the starry sky above, and no moral law within.' Speaking to Judy Stone of the New York Times Book Review, Milosz stated:  'I am searching for an answer as to what will result from an internal erosion of religious beliefs.'  Because of his moral vision Milosz’s writings make strong statements, some of which are inherently political in their implications. 'The act of writing a poem is an act of faith,' Milosz claimed in The History of Polish Literature, 'yet if the screams of the tortured are audible in the poet’s room, is not his activity an offense to human suffering?'  Yet Milosz also warned of the dangers of political writing. In a PEN Congress talk reprinted in the Partisan Review, he stated: 'In this century a basic stance of writers… seems to be an acute awareness of suffering inflicted upon human beings by unjust structures of society… This awareness of suffering makes a writer open to the idea of radical change, whichever of many recipes he chooses… Innumerable millions of human beings were killed in this century in the name of utopia—either progressive or reactionary, and always there were writers who provided convincing justifications for massacre.'

 

In The Witness of Poetry Milosz argues that true poetry is 'the passionate pursuit of the Real.' He condemns those writers who favor art for art’s sake or who think of themselves as alienated, and suggests, as Adam Gussow wrote in the Saturday Review, that poets may have 'grown afraid of reality, afraid to see it clearly and speak about it in words we can all comprehend.'   Many critics noted his concern for a poetry that confronts reality.

 

With the publication in 1986 of Unattainable Earth, Milosz continued to show himself as a poet of memory and a poet of witness, for, in the prose footnote to Poet at Seventy, he wrote of his continued 'un-named need for order, for rhythm, for form, which three words are opposed to chaos and nothingness.'  The book was the first of several lauded collaborative translations between the author and American poet Robert Hass. A year later, The Collected Poems, 1931-1987 was published, bringing together Selected Poems, Bells in Winter, The Separate Notebooks, and Unattainable Earth into one volume.  The book contains 180 poems ranging in size from two lines to sixty pages.  Forty-five poems appear for the first time in English, of which twenty-six are recently translated older poems and twenty are new poems. 

 

Milosz followed in 1991 with Provinces: Poems, 1987-1991. For Milosz, the life in each individual seems made up of provinces, and one new province which he must now visit is the province of old age.  He explores getting older in the thirteen-part sequence titled A New Province, reporting that, 'not much is known about that country / Till we land there ourselves, with no right to return.'   In the 1990s, Milosz also published a series of books of essays and occasional pieces, including Beginning with My Streets: Essays and Recollections, published in 1992, which closes with his 1980 Nobel lecture, and A Year of the Hunter, published in 1994, a journal Milosz penned between August of 1987 and August of 1988.

 

In 1995 Milosz produced the poetry collection Facing the River: New Poems. This volume includes verse that deals largely with his return to Vilnius, the city of his childhood, now the capital of the free republic of Lithuania.  Facing the River is not just about Milosz’s return to Lithuania and the people that he misses; it also addresses the poet’s accomplishments and his views on life.  In At a Certain Age, Milosz declares that old men, who see themselves as handsome and noble, will find: 'later in our place an ugly toad / Half-opens its thick eyelid / And one sees clearly: "That’s me." '  In 1999, at age eighty-eight, Milosz published Roadside Dog, a collection [that in]  'maxims, anecdotes, meditations, crumbs of worldly wisdom, introspections… [and] poems,' takes readers on a trip through the sounds and images that have shaped his life as a poet.  Milosz remained active even as he advanced into his nineties.  In 2001 he published Milosz’s ABCs, a brief, alphabetical collection of entries illustrating his experiences and view on life.  And that year, Milosz published a translation of a work first published in 1957 in his native language: A Treatise on Poetry. This lengthy poetic work has four parts which ponder Europe at the turn of the twentieth century, Poland between the two world wars that devastated it, World War II, and the proper place of the poet in the world after the horror of World War II.  It also serves as an historical survey of Polish poetry throughout those periods.

 

2001 also saw the publication of another major collection of Milosz’s poems, New and Collected Poems, 1931-2001 and a collection of essays titled To Begin Where I Am: Selected Essays. The essays also form a kind of autobiography, beginning with an account of the poet’s life on his grandparents’ farm in Lithuania and proceeding on through the tumultuous decades that followed.  Milosz has frequently been pointed out as rather unusual in that he maintained his Catholic faith even through the horrors of two World Wars; many intellectuals who survived that time subsequently suffered crises of faith from which they never recovered.

 

Milosz died in Krakow, Poland in 2004. In 2011, Yale University held the 'Milosz and America' conference at the Beinecke Library.  Milosz’s papers are held at the Beinecke.

 

 

 

 

Use the links below to read more poems (in English) by CZESLAW MILOSZ and learn more about his life and work:

 

 

 

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/czeslaw-milosz#tab-poems

 

 

 

https://culture.pl/en/search/czesalw%20milosz

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Poet of the Month 038: EWA LIPSKA

 

 

 

 

Poet of the Month 020: ANNA SWIRSZCZYNSKA

 

 

Poet of the Month 009: JULIAN TUWIM

 

 

 

 

 

 

Last updated 13 April 2021 

Poet of the Month 038: EWA LIPSKA

 

EWA LIPSKA
May 2006

 

CHILDREN

 

 

Children meet at nostalgic dinner-parties.
Children meet in executive sessions.
Children are experienced.
Some of them cannot recognize a swan.

 

Children have identity papers.  Birth certificates.
Health records.  Certificates of death.
Children choose their leaders who
make speeches praising rocking horses.

 

Children hijack planes and kidnap ministers.
Children emigrate to the ends of earth.
Children submit reports about their parents.
Children fight for the rights of wooden dolls.
Children sit in astrakhan fur coats.
Pink cakes fly through the air.
Children recall the fallen Roman Empire
and nod their little heads.
In the huge kindergarten of nations
children play ball and
spit cherry stones at each other.
They switch on an artificial sun
that rises like a mitigating circumstance.
Then children put aside their toys
and start to produce some new children.

 

 

 

 

date unspecified

 

 

 

 

 

Translated by

  

SUSAN BASSNETT 

 

and  

 

PIOTR KUHIWCZAK

 

 

 

 

The following biographical statement written by Ad van Rijsewijk and translated from Dutch by Michele Hutchison appears on the Poetry International Rotterdam website.  [It is re-posted here for information purposes only and, like the poem re-posted above, remains its author's exclusive copyright-protected intellectual property.]

 

Ewa Lipska is one of the most important Polish poets of her generation.  She studied painting at the Academy for Fine Arts in Krakow, and from 1970 to 1980 she worked as an editor at the Krakow publishing house Wydawnictwo Literackie.  In the 1990s she lived for seven years in Vienna, where she was assistant manager of the Polish Cultural Foundation.

 

She debuted as a poet in 1967 with the collection Wiersze [Poems], and from then until 1978 she published four more collections, from Drugi zbior wierszy [The Second Poetry Collection] up to Piaty zbior wierszy [The Fifth Poetry Collection].  She has now published more than twenty poetry collections and several anthologies.  Her most recent poetry collection Pomarańca Newtona [Newton’s Orange] was published in 2007, and her first novel, Sefer, in 2009.

 

Lipska’s work has been awarded various literary prizes and her books have been translated into fifteen languages, including English, German, French, Spanish, Swedish and Hebrew.  Two of her collections have appeared in the Netherlands: Mensen voor beginners [Human Beginners] (De Geus, 2000) and Splinter (De Geus, 2007).

 

Although Lipska is sometimes considered as part of the 'New Wave' group of the 1970s, she distances herself from such associations, preferring to operate autonomously.  Over the years, her mistrust of the language of her daily surroundings, for her a language of masks and lies, has grown.  In response, Lipska has developed an inverted language, which is confrontational and frequently ominous.  Her poems are lucid, and in few words, she puts forth her own reality with gentle irony.  Fascinated by human behaviour, she strips away the false meaning of words, proving that we’re still merely 'Human Beginners'.                      

  

 

 

Text © 2010 Ad van Rijsewijk

 

 

 

Use the links below to read more poems by Polish poet EWA LIPSKA and learn more about her life and work:

 

 

http://www.wordswithoutborders.org/contributor/ewa-lipska

 

 

https://culture.pl/en/search/ewa%20lipska

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Poet of the Month 027: ADAM ZAGAJEWSKI

 

 

 
Poet of the Month 003: WISLAWA SZYMBORSKA

 

 

 
Poet of the Month 009: JULIAN TUWIM

 

 

 

 

Last updated 13 April 2021