Dear friends,
This week, I picked up a new translation of the Polish language poet Zuzanna Ginczanka’s work, brilliantly translated by Alissa Valles.
I’ve been thinking a lot about translation lately — does a poem’s translation convey the syntax as near as possible to the original language? Or try to render the sense in the newly birthed new-language version? — and so I have been looking at, and been in conversation with, poets and friends who work with multiple languages. So, hence my eye was drawn to the red cover of this book, titled Firebird.
Zuzanna Ginczanka’s work is extraordinary. I’ve been consumed by the book in spare moments. She was executed by Nazi forces in late 1944 or early 1945, at the age of 26. By that age, she had already established her name as an important poet, with her work managing to contain both fire and flight, tenderness and scalpel, rage and wonder. In a poem she must have written shortly before her execution she denounces — by name — the landlady who exposed her as a Jew in possession of falsified papers:
“I leave no heirs, so may your hand dig out
my Jewish things, Chominowa of Lvov, mother
of a Volksdeutcher, snitch’s wife, swift snout.
May they serve you and yours, not any others.
My dears, this is no lute nor empty name,
I remember you, as you remembered me…”
The poem, in Alissa Valles’ translation (NYRB, 2023), is electrifying: the clarify of naming; the sense of speaking to a future Ginczanka knows she will not see, but yet speaks to; the usage of remember twice in that line; and the space between the words “you” and “me”… I keep reading the poem again and again.
The poem is untitled, but it does have an epigraph from the Roman lyric poet Horace (65 BCE – 8 CE): Non omnis moriar multaque pars mei vitabit libitinam (not everything in me shall perish; part of me will escape Libitinam. In this poem, Zuzanna Ginczanka combines her knowledge of ancient poetry with protest against her current situation, mixing the verve of language with the vernacular of naming neighbours. At times this week, while reading the small book of her work, I’ve stood up because I can’t contain the energy the poems put in me.
It is a testament to brilliance, and a testament to horror. And it is a testament to the curiosity and skill of a young poet who concerned herself with art, nature, and language (she wrote in Polish, and also spoke Yiddish and Russian). The poems are a testament, too, to the capacity of poetry to turn to the circumstances (some chosen, others not) that shape a life, and to make the sometimes-hellish everyday of a life the focus of poetry. There is no idealism in the poetry, and nor is there saccharine surrender. Instead there’s a voice that — like the millions of others who have been exterminated — deserved to last.
In her poems, there are whales, eagles, floods, and blood-stained fur; there’s virginity, language, shock, and sensuality. Reading her work, I experience many things: rage, amazement, shock, admiration. I see how art coursed through her: and how her art was a witness — of her interests, dexterity, determination to succeed, and commitment.
In the comments, I’d love to hear what poets you turn to that either alert you to these same dynamics for yourself, or who bore similar witness in their work.
Oh to live in a world where lives were not exterminated by other lives. Oh to work for that world. Oh to be fueled by all the energies to keep working for that world. And keep working. And keep.
I’ll see you in the comments friends,
The Latest from Poetry Unbound
In October 2022, I had the delight of interviewing Patricia Smith, Aimee Nezhukumatathil, and Henri Cole at the Dodge Poetry Festival in Newark, New Jersey. Thanks to Martin and everyone involved at Dodge.
In this in-between-the-seasons time of Poetry Unbound, we’ve released these three hour-long interviews in the Poetry Unbound feed.
You can also listen on Spotify, poetryunbound.org, or wherever podcasts are found.
Poetry in the World
ONLINE:
Strange Stories of the Bible
I’ll be teaching a five-part online course this autumn — 5pm EST, on Sunday nights: October 8, 15, 22, 20, and November 5 — on literary readings of peculiar biblical texts. I approach the art of these stories in deep respect for the artistry of the — mostly anonymous — original writers. This will be an exploration of art, and it’s mostly for those who wish to enjoy a small safari through powerful literature (and come out alive). Registration and details here.
Writing the Wild
On February 6 of next year, I’ll be giving a seminar as part of a workshop guided by Krissy Kludt and beloved guest of On Being, J. Drew Lanham. More details here. (The site says registration is closed, but they’re keeping it open for a few more weeks — just sign up via the waiting list.)
U.S.A.
Printers Row Literary Festival | Chicago, IL
I’ll be interviewing Charif Shanahan on September 9th at the Printers Row Lit Fest in Chicago, 5pm. The exact time will be posted on their website end of August, and we’ll share on Substack then as well. Save the date, and learn more about the festival in the meantime here.
Iowa State University | Ames, IA
On September 14th at 6pm, I’ll give a lecture about “Poetry and Conflict Resolution” at Iowa State University. Would love to meet you if you’re in the area. The event is free, and will be recorded. Find further details here.
And the following day, the 15th of September at 7pm, I’m giving a keynote on “The Language of Peace.” Details are here, and registration here.
Dominican University | River Forest, IL
In the evening of September 21st, I’ll be giving the Tenth Annual Caesar and Patricia Tabet Poetry Reading at Dominican University, in River Forest, near Chicago. Details and tickets here.
Lexington Community Education | Lexington, MA
I’m giving a talk about the “You” of poetry at Lexington Community Education project, on Thursday, 19th October, 7pm. Details and registration here.
EUROPE
“Poetry, Spirit, and Survival” | Island of Iona, Scotland
I’ll be leading a retreat March 18-23, 2024. While this is currently fully booked, you can join a waiting list for the retreat, or join an early mailing list for future annual Iona retreats by contacting the organizer here.
Journeying Into the Common Good | Patmos, Greece
Together with Krista, Allison Russell, JT Nero, and Joe Henry, I’ll be one of the speakers at a small salon on the revelatory Greek island of Patmos next summer from June 27-July 4. More details here.
Good morning, Padraig,
Your letters are always welcome in my house. My self-given and accepted task for today is to repeat over and over these two words: Heart and Love. Even now, at 75, I’m not sure about these words and what they contain.
So often, these days, I turn to Ryokan. A recluse monk, living in a hermitage in Japan, 1758-1831. Through his writings I meet a man who wrote so honestly about encountering the full range of human emotion, with amazing acceptance it seems to me. In the tradition of Zen, Ryokan wrote death-bed poems as he approached his own death.
This is a favorite of mine:
“When, when? I sighed.
The one I longed for
Has finally come;
With her now,
I have all that I need.”
Late in his life it is written that he fell in love with a younger nun, Teishin, and she with he. They wrote poems to each other. Teishin was with him when he died.
Another version of this poem, when translated into English, is:
When, When?
You, whom I have been
eagerly awaiting,
are finally here.
What else is there to want?
Though this seems to be a declaration of his love for Teishin, I am tempted to also read this as a letter to Death. What does one need as one is about to die? An ID card? Driver’s license? Social Security number? None of these things matter anymore. In the embrace of Death, where life and death become exquisite lovers, what else is there to want? Life and Death are doing a final dance. And, in his good fortune, Teishin is nearby to witness this dance. What else is there to want? Truly, what else? 🏮
Mary Oliver and Hafiz. There are poems by both that I read over and over and over and each time I am surprised, affirmed, shook and "blown open" in the words of the late great Seamus Heaney. Also Seamus Heaney - I'll leave you with with one of his (also read over and over and over and always shook):
And some time make the time to drive out west
Into County Clare, along the Flaggy Shore,
In September or October, when the wind
And the light are working off each other
So that the ocean on one side is wild
With foam and glitter, and inland among stones
The surface of a slate-grey lake is lit
By the earthed lightning of a flock of swans,
Their feathers roughed and ruffling, white on white,
Their fully grown headstrong-looking heads
Tucked or cresting or busy underwater.
Useless to think you’ll park and capture it
More thoroughly. You are neither here nor there,
A hurry through which known and strange things pass
As big soft buffetings come at the car sideways
And catch the heart off guard and blow it open.