Polish Studies Conference 3

I’m missing everyone now, the warm camaraderie at the party/picnic in Brown State Park after the conference, everyone sitting around the enormous fireplace in the shelter, singing Hej Hej Hej Sokoły and a lot of other songs I’ve never heard, some of the non-Polish Polonists were singing along, too. Missing, likewise, the drive back to Chicago with Antonia, our lively conversation, and especially Antonia’s own aliveness, experience, and attitude about life.

On the last day of the conference, during the first morning panel, “Queering Polish Literature and Culture,” Joanna Niżyńska gave a talk on Białoszewski and his destabilization of normativity in the short prose of the seventies and eighties, a destabilization that can be accounted for through queer theory in ways that have not so far happened, i.e. as neither biographical withdrawal nor counternarrative, but as performative within the written work itself. Przemysław Czapliński talked about five categories of “misfits” represented in Polish literature since the mid-eighties — the communist man, the postmodern man, the woman, the Jew, and the queer — and about their devalorization and disparagement in mainstream society around the mid-nineties, a shift that can be seen perhaps most clearly in the difference between, say, representations of Jews in Paweł Huelle’s 1988 Weiser Dawidek (in which the Jewish boy is somewhat naively celebrated) and Mariusz Sieniewicz’s Żydówek nie obsługujemy (in which antisemitism is ironized). Neither Joanna nor Czapliński mentioned Lubiewo; I was hoping to ask Joanna what she thinks about the role of Białoszewski in Witkowski’s book, and to ask Czapliński how he would read Lubiewo in relation to the systemic change he laid out for us. But there wasn’t time.

Karen’s paper turned out well, despite her despair the night before. My own paper was a farce — appropriate, I suppose, to the subject (the carnivalesque and doubling in Bareja’s Miś): I’d put together a powerpoint presentation with film clips, but the PC laptop I was using at the last minute (because I’d of course forgotten to bring the adaptor for my Mac), didn’t have some necessary software… So I had to wing it. Like so many things. The only good that came of it was that I got some useful comments about the film from folks in the audience.

The party afterwards was a lot of fun. A half-hour drive out into the country. A large stone semi-enclosed shelter. Fires blazing in two mammoth fireplaces. Food, beer. Conversation with Joanna and Bożena Karwowska about the joys of being introduced as “Pani Joasia” and “Pani Bożenka.” Then with Antonia and Bryce about cynicism under communism (Antonia’s anecdotes about life in eighties Leningrad: pretending to be pregnant, for instance, in order to gain entry to special dairy shops). Then with Bryce and Roman Koropeckyj about the (Lacanian) ethics of redaction (Bryce insistent that Witkowski’s ongoing edition of Lubiewo is a bad thing, that he should basically enjoy his Žižekian symptom and leave it be; Koropeckyj countering with some Romantic Ukrainian example and astonished at Bryce’s intransigence); and Koropeckyj had some useful things to say about Lubiewo, too, its address of a specifically Polish readership and difficulties in translating that to an English-language one. An interesting discussion amongst Czapliński, Trojanowska, Niżyńska, and Koropeckyj about Miś and PRL society around 1980, which was very useful for me to overhear. Afterwards, Bryce, Milija, and I headed off to Uncle Elizabeth’s for the evening’s blurry, paratactic end.

Polish Studies Conference 2 (Friday)

Bill Johnston, Antonia Lloyd-Jones, and Mira Rosenthal gave a truly lovely reading this evening in the Lilly Library following the “Found in Translation” award ceremony for Bill and his recent translation of Różewicz’s New Poems. They read in two sessions of three ten-minute slots, which was a great way to break up the hour and sustain everyone’s attention. In the first session, Antonia started off with a funny extract from a new novel (Uczta Głupców — Feast of Fools) by the Polish-American writer Henryk Skwarczyński, Mira read from her translation of Tomasz Różycki’s The Forgotten Keys, and Bill read from the Różewicz book. In the second shift Antonia started off with a very interesting new story by Paweł Huelle, Mira read from a new batch of translations of Różycki, and Bill read a piece by Jerzy Pilch. They are all superb readers, which was in large measure what made the reading so enjoyable. I was especially moved by Mira’s reading of the Różycki, which made his poems available to me in a way they had not been (granted, I really haven’t read much of him, but am inspired to do so now). Antonia has one of the most engaging and enjoyable reading styles I’ve ever heard. She also translated and read aloud, during the award ceremony, the letter that Różewicz had written for Bill. Official ceremonies inevitably tend toward stuffiness, and one is supposed to be annoyed at them, but this one wasn’t stuffy or annoying in the least, largely because it was so informal and brief, because Bill’s a mensch, and because the award-givers, the young and hip Monika Fabijanska, director of the Polish Cultural Institute, and Grzegorz Gauden, the new director of the Polish Book Institute, were so positive and casual.

It was nice to see Breon Mitchell at the reception afterwards. He’s doing a new translation of The Tin Drum for Harcourt now. Last time I saw him was at Susan Bernofsky’s birthday party at the LCB a few years back.

We just had a nice dinner at The Irish Lion with a crew of Polonists. I gave Bill the Bacacay street sign I got in Buenos Aires two years ago — why keep it? Now it has a new story, and Bill was really happy. Now Karen and I are sitting at a cool Bloomington cafe called Soma, where we’re both writing… This is ridiculous, still writing the paper the night before… Next time I’m not finished before the conference begins, I simply won’t go… (Ha ha, famous last words…)

Polish Studies Conference (Bloomington, IN, 17–20 April)

Karen Underhill and I drove down last night, got in a little after midnight and went directly over to Justyna Beinek’s lovely, spacious, new home for tea and a chat and so Karen could drop off all the pączki and pierogie etc. she’d picked up for Justyna in Jackowo earlier.

Clare Cavanagh gave the opening talk this morning, on Poland and the discourse of post-colonialism. Marek Zaleski spoke about the “Literature and Culture Wars in post-1989 Poland,” a conflict in which Lubiewo has played a significant role. A history grad student at Michigan named Raymond Patton presented on the punk music scene in Poland in the eighties and the variety of discourse around it on all three levels of the PRL public sphere. In the afternoon, Benjamin Paloff gave a perfectly polished reading of Miłosz and Herling-Grudziński’s respective views on the relationship of violence to what Paloff calls the “theatre of the counterfactual” (the cynical participation in the false and corrupt official discourse of, especially, the Stalinist PRL; Herling’s claim was that one was initiated into that participation through violence, and Benjamin’s inquiry resonated for me quite strongly with the cynical discourse of the current War in Iraq). I missed the second morning session, but Milija and Tamara Trojanowska enthused afterwards about Bryce Lease’s talk on the Polish theatre at Gardzienice and his evident expertise on Lacan, which makes me instantly afraid of him, especially since I’m still thinking of trying to work in some of Alenka Zupančič’s ideas on comedy and doubles in my own paper (in the final session on Saturday).

People have come from all over for this conference — Canada, England, Poland of course, Japan, Berlin, Boston, Los Angeles. It’s nice to see the same faces from Toronto — Milija Gluhović, who was finishing up his Ph.D. at Toronto then and is now teaching at Warwick, Bill Johnston and his wife Kasia, Joanna Niżyńska from Harvard. I remember one night in particular at one of the pubs in downtown Toronto, when we were all together singing Polish songs (or everyone else was; I know only “Sto Lat”), and thinking what a remarkable group of people this was, academics who are not only completely unpretentious, human, and smart, but who sing!

This time I’m feeling a little disoriented, largely because I haven’t finished writing my paper — a totally ridiculous situation that I would feel even worse about except that a number of other people are in the same boat. The weather is great — it’s actually spring here, you can walk around in a t-shirt, and I went for a run after the reception this evening, a million blooming trees and flowers everywhere.

DIK Fagazine

I’m perusing the website of DIK Fagazine (www.dikfagazine.com) and the blog (www.dik.blog.pl) attached to it, while waiting for Michał to show up on skype so we can chat about some questions I have. DIK is Central-East Europe’s answer to BUTT, tho’ published under rather different social-political circumstances (i.e. radiomaryjakaczyńskiesque Poland), and it’s grown by leaps and bounds since they started a few years ago — six issues already, and they’re available in Berlin, Paris, London, New York (St. Marks), Los Angeles, among other places (not Chicago though). I can’t believe it, the one back issue I’d really really like to have (#2, which has Jacek P.’s face and bare chest on the cover) is the only one that’s unavailable! DIK and Witkowski have a long history. Karoł Radziszewski, the magazine’s chief editor, also did the Polaroid photos for the 3rd (Golden) edition of Lubiewo.

Michał rang and we quickly sorted out the five or so questions I had. I think it might make sense to read the German and have a look at some of the other translations, just to see what they’ve come up with. Evidently Stefan Ingvarsson’s Swedish translation, as that fellow in Berlin suggested, really is very good, but hasn’t been published yet. (Ingvarsson is also an editor of DIK.) Christina Marie Hauptmeier’s German translation for Suhrkamp came out several months ago, but according to Michał has not been much publicized (one reading in Germany). This doesn’t surprise me, given that major publishers in Germany tend to downplay the gayness of gay-themed works when they publish them at all (the active queer publishing and bookselling scene there is largely a response to this situation). The reluctance is apparent, even with Lubiewo; just compare the covers of the French and Czech editions to that of the German:

French:

Hmm. Looks pretty gay, and it’s also very thoughtful: Michał (or his doppelgänger) revealing the watchful (or maybe just distracted) eye/I (ha! we can do that in English!) of the documentarian-cum-Style Queen author.

Now for the Czech:

No question about it, this book is Gay!!!

And now the German…:

Hmm. Pretty. But you really have to look closely to recognize those ornaments as false eyelashes.

Is this some kind of throwback to a “pre-emancipatory” queer hermeneutic/aesthetic? Wouldn’t it be easier just to wrap it in brown paper? Granted, the German Großverleger (especially Suhrkamp) are generally as neutral as possible with design etc., regardless of what they publish (no going out on a limb and alienating potential market segments for these folks). For example, even the (straight) Polish writer Andrzej Stasiuk’s first novel Walls of Hebron got the standard Edition Suhrkamp cover:

And while Suhrkamp has treated other books by Stasiuk (slightly) more imaginatively, evocatively…

…I still can’t imagine them, or any big publisher in Germany, ever letting readers know at first glance just how gay and sticky the insides of a gay title are. No, no hot semi-nude Ukrainian sailors for those folks (tho’ Suhrkamp should really think about it: a shirtless Stasiuk on the cover would be sure to send sales soaring). Readers there, as here, will just have to get their kicks from…

„hetka – pętelka”, cizia pończoszanka i ni to ni śmo

I tylko jedna, wariatka jakaś, ciota już w średnim wieku, ale od razu widać, że „hetka – pętelka”, cizia pończoszanka i ni to ni śmo – zostaje na tym deszczu, tańczy, krzyczy,

What the…?? Cizia = babe, pończoszanka = the surname given to Pippi Longstocking’s character in Polish; hetka – pętelka = a somewhat archaic idiom for someone of no importance; ni to ni śmo = neither here nor there? Glad I’m not the only one confused by this. Just skyped Jasper to ask him what he thought of the following:

And only one — some madwoman or other, some middle-aged queen, though obviously “small fry,” all totty and no knickers — stays behind in the rain, dancing, shouting,

… and he dashed off an email to his friend Witek to see if the “hetka – pętelka, cizia pończoszanka” meant anything to him or if, as we both speculated, it may resonate in specific ways in a subgroup discourse, but remains unclear to an average reader —

…and now Witek T. just skyped me directly and explained a couple of things.

First off, “Cizia pończoszanka” is a direct play on “Fizia pończoszanka,” which is the full name given to Pippi Longstocking in her Polish iteration. But Cizia, which is a name akin to “babe” or “totty” in English, sexualizes the association and also introduces a disjunct in historical association as well — Longstocking resonates with an earlier period, the 1950s—70s or so, while “cizia” is quite recent. Further, as Witek pointed out, “totty” might not be the right word if it is predominantly positive; there is something demeaning about naming someone “Cizia pończoszanka.” And the “ni to ni śmo” emphasizes that; it means not “neither here nor there” but something along the lines of “whatever it is, it’s completely negligible.”

Witek agreed that emphasizing the wordplay over the literality of the reference was more important to the translation (i.e. the play on words is the dominant here). I thought I could have done with it by perverting the British idiom “All fur coat and no knickers.” (I like, by the way, that all these queens are naked on the beach, so the ‘no knickers’ is made perverse with literalness.) But I see now that I’ll need another word for “totty” and should find a translation for the “ni to ni śmo” as well.

Maybe slapper? “All slapper and no knickers”??

I’ll have to think it over though. Benjamin P. and family are in town and I’m going to meet them for coffee in a bit.

Oh, and the “hetka-pętelka” is indeed archaic; Witek had to look it up. “Small fry” might not be enough. Maybe “bantamweight”? Will have to dig up something…

Translating into a British idiom can be anxious-making, but is always extremely instructive. Happened on this promising blog on my search just now: http://separatedbyacommonlanguage.blogspot.com/

так природа захотела…

I tried Googling it in Russian, but I must have been spelling it wrong, so I queried the SEELANGS listserv about the Russian quote “Tak prieroda zachaciela, paciemu — nie nasza diela” and immediately got responses from about five people. Evidently it’s from Bulat Okhudzhava’s song, Istoricheskij Roman (Historical Novel).

Here’s the verse, which is worth citing in full:

Каждый пишет, что он слышит,
Каждый слышит, как он дышит,
Как он дышит, так и пишет,
Не стараясь угодить.
Так природа захотела,
Почему, не наше дело,
Для чего, не нам судить.

And here is a translation, graciously provided by Zhenya B.:

Everyone writes what he hears;
Everyone hears himself breathe;
The way one breathes is precisely the way one writes,
Without trying to please [others].
This is how nature wanted it;
Why [it is so] is not our business,
For what purpose [it is so] is not for us to judge.

I looked online for a video of Bulat Okudzhava singing it, but could only find this performance by Bulat’s protegée Veronika Dolina. Enjoy!

Chroma Journal

Chroma Journal is launching its new issue today (#7: “There is Here”). It includes an extract (the scene in The Little Fairy). More info at: http://www.chromajournal.co.uk

The Naked Civil Servant

I’ve just finished reading Quentin Crisp’s The Naked Civil Servant. A wonderful book; wish I’d read it years ago, when I was younger, when he was alive; wish, somehow, I’d had the chance to witness him in person.

Not only does Crisp’s “camp talk” remind me of Patrycja and Lukrecja’s speech in Lubiewo’s first part (although Crisp is far more refined, decidedly middle-class by contrast with their proletarian chatter), but many of the situations he describes resonate with those of communist-era Poland. For instance, the world of gays in London in the 1920s:

As I wandered along Piccadilly or Shaftesbury Avenue, I passed young men standing at the street corners who said, “Isn’t it terrible tonight, dear? No men about. The Dilly’s not what it used to be.” (20)

From time to time he threw us out. When this happened we waltzed around the neighboring streets in search of love or money or both. If we didn’t find either, we returned to the café and put on more lipstick. (23)

Once outside the flat, I hurried like a wrong hushed up to the nearest public lavatory and put on my war paint. Then I proceeded calmly wherever I was going. (28 )

Or London during wartime:

For most of 1940 London by night was like one of those dimly lit parties that their hosts hope are slightly wicked … As soon as bombs started to fall, the city became like a paved double bed. (149)

Or the inevitable dangers of being homosexual:

…fearing that I might be kicked, I staggered to my feet and was at once knocked across the pavement by a single, more carefully aimed blow. As I leaned against the front of Finsbury Town Hall covering my own equally ornate façade with my hands to try to prevent rivers of mascara from running down my cheeks, I said, “I seem to have annoyed you gentlemen in some way.” (61)

Or the joys of men in uniform:

Outside the hotel I paused for a second, not knowing which way to go. A second was long enough. I was instantly surrounded by sailors. I explained that I wished to walk along the seafront and they offered to show me the way. From then on our progress was like a production number in a Hollywood musical. (92)

Death-made-easy vanished overnight and soon love-made-easy, personified by the American soldiers, also disappeared. At a Christmas party in one of the rooms in our house a woman entered and embraced me. Over her shoulder I saw, hesitating in the doorway, a G.I. The woman said brightly, “I brought him for you. He’s a bit small but they’re getting difficult to find. Come in, Ricky.” (168 )

And one finds throughout, too, the anthropological perspective that informs Lubiewo:

…the same exaggerated and oversimplified distinction that separated men from women in the outer world ran like a wall straight and impassable between the “roughs” and the “bitches” … Quite recently a male prostitute of my acquaintance, on one of his amateur nights, picked up a young soldier only to find at the crucial moment that he had lumbered himself with a passive sodomite. “And, all of a sudden, he turned over. After all I’d done—flitting about the room in my wrap, making him coffee. You know, camping myself silly. My dear, I was disgusted. I made him get up and put on his clothes again” … They were all pseudo-women in search of pseudo-men. (55–56)

All liaisons between homosexuals are conducted as though they were between a chorus girl and a bishop. In some cases both parties think they are bishops. I realized I was a chorus girl and quite happily knew men for as long as seventeen years without knowing their surnames or addresses. (97)

The thing would be to digest Crisp’s language — along with that of other queer writers: Wilde, Rechy, Kramer, Cooper — and to invoke it as needed, in the kind of Bakhtinian polyphony theorized by Rachel May in her Translator in the Text, in recreating Lubiewo.

“The best (or 3rd best) gay book ever”

I got this email a couple of days ago from an Englishman in Berlin:

Hi,
From a bit of Googling I gather you’re translating “Lubiewo” into
English - I’ve just spent the evening being told by a group of people who’ve read a few chapters of the forthcoming Swedish translation that it was the best (or 3rd best, according to different opinions)
gay book ever and so was wondering if your version was going to
appear any time soon, or if I should just get the German one… any
idea when it might come out?

Good question. Yikes. This makes me nervous. On account of both my inexcusable delinquency and the inevitable comparisons between translations. Will mine be as good, funny, smart etc. as the Swedish? On the other hand, it’s nice that the book’s reputation is busy preceding it…

Lunch with Agata B. (cont’d)

Ta czerwona flaga oznacza, że odtąd już rozciąga się komuna i moje Emerytki o tym wiedzą

This red flag marks the spot where communism starts, and my Pensioneresses know all about that.

There is something funny about “moje Emerytki,” Agata points out. Everyone in Poland knows what’s meant by Emerytki — the retired women who used to work for the State in its various forms, who were employed simply because the State had an obligation to keep everyone working (or rather, employed — work had little to do with it), and who now are the Communist State’s fond nostalgists.

These are the women who sat in twos and threes behind the counters of every Społem (State-run grocery), post office, train station, etc., gossiping and drinking tea from glass cups while customers lined up and waited patiently to be served. When one customer finally did muster the courage to say something, “Excuse me, maybe one of you ladies could possibly help us? We’ve been standing here for over 10 minutes already and the line is…,” he’d be blasted with a surly “We’re on our break! Can’t you see??” by one of the women, who would invariably point to the little green card on the counter indicating that the much-deserved Przerwa, 12:15—12:30 was indeed taking place.

Or maybe it was more along the lines described here by Stanisławs Bareja and Tym in Co mi zrobisz, jak mnie złapiesz:

I’m not sure if this type of indolent, insolent low-level functionary is what Agata means. They’re the ones I was familiar with during my life in the waning months of the PRL. But now that Agata has made the association with their post-communist iterations, I have a much better understanding of the humor of a phrase like “moje Emerytki.” Hmm. It could probably even work as the title of a popular television sitcom — á la Golden Girls…

But how to render that complex of everyday associations with an English word like Pensioneress — which smacks of little more than archaicism and its own awkwardness?