Krzysztof Koehler
O'Harism
If O'Harism is to be the fate of poetry in this new decade, then
Marcin Swietlicki stands a chance of becoming the poet of our era's end.
And yet, before that happens, I would like to take a moment to talk
about one poem, "To Jan Polkowski," and in particular about a
certain view expressed in it, which with its sharp teeth bites the hands
of all kinds of poetry, even the poetry of Marcin Swietlicki.
Let's start with the trivial matters.
Poetry is - and must be, whether it wants to or not - conventionally
as well as functionally artificial. That's something anyone who takes up
pen and paper should know. After all, we don't speak in poetry on the
street. Nor at the university, nor in the army.
Conventional artifice demands of the poet an awareness - or at least
an intuition - of the objective to one's activity. If, in other words,
the poet says "I have a toothache, both of us, hungry,
lonely," etc., then he sure as hell isn't saying it just to let us
know. Not unless he's a metromaniac of course. The poet talks about his
"loneliness" and his "toothache" with some kind of
objective in mind, and that objective, if I'm not mistaken, is the mark
of this conventional artificiality, inasmuch as it is the usual immanent
objective: aesthetic value. Marcin Swietlicki says that he has a
toothache for a different reason (that is, if you believe him): what
interests him in poetry is an authenticism of experience, he wants to
bring poetry closer to everyday life, to talk about himself, to be the
one and only, stripped bare, authentic, whole, to live. He wants to
extract himself from the snares of the conventional artificiality that
is poetry, by writing poems.
The poet incriminated in the poem "To Jan Polkowski," who
instead of saying "I'm lonely, I'm hungry" says "the
Bible, Thomas Mann," etc., is considerably more prudent. He knows
that we do not communicate with poems in daily life (I can only speak
for myself of course, perhaps it's different for Marcin Swietlicki), and
in order not to bore us with pronouncements about, say, the status of
his dentition, he alleviates the existential condition of his
"pain," "hunger," and "loneliness" with
cultural meanings that allow it to resonate, and with a resonance that
permits improved understanding. Unless, of course, he means for his
poems to be read as monologues.
If, however, we agree that a poem - or for that matter, any literary
(and not just literary) text - is a kind of dialogue, then it's worth
taking a moment, before opening our mouths or setting pen to paper, to
ask whether there's any point to deluding our interlocutor (if he isn't
a family member or a lover or a girlfriend) with the at times bitter, at
times cheerful but always unconditionally authentic history of our own
ascents and downfalls.
This state of affairs also plays itself out on another level. The
poet, the adherent of authenticism, finds himself in a somewhat awkward,
even false, situation. He is playing an especially complicated game.
Either he really is naive, or he's just acting the part, when he
attempts to persuade both himself and us that his poems are somehow
exempt from poetry's conventional and functional artificiality. What he
desires is to perform a kind of conjurer's trick: swinging his watch
back and forth, he assures us that he's free, authentic, above
conventionality; but it's because of us, the readers, that he thrashes
about as if caught in a net of verses, and what should have been
authentic and free turns out to be - after all, it's poetry - artificial
and forced (enslaved).
Marcin Swietlicki is clearly under the impression that within the
confines of convention and by virtue of convention he can actually smash
convention to bits and stand naked before us, in the light of truth. But
then why bother wasting all that ink and paper? It's enough to go hang
out with your friends.
Translated by W. Martin
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Marcin Swietlicki
Koehlerism
Krzysztof Koehler's piece "O'Harism" was written in deadly
earnest. And since the charges to be found in it concern my immodest
person, it behooves me to respond to it. Which I will do.
1. The object of contention is a fragment (but is that all it is?) of
my poem "For
Jan Polkowski" (not, as Koehler has it, "To Jan Polkowski"
- if you're going to attack, make sure you have the right target). This
fragment appears as follows:
Instead of saying: I have a toothache, I'm
hungry, I'm lonely, both of us, four of
us, our whole street - they say quietly: Wanda
Wasilewska, Cyprian Kamil Norwid,
Józef Pilsudski, the Ukraine, Lithuania,
Thomas Mann, the Bible, ...
I never expected that something so obvious could evoke such strong
emotions. For in addition to K.K., Jaroslaw Marek Rymkiewicz, Marian
Stala, and Marcin Baran have had reactions to this innocent stanza and
this innocent poem as well (please see issue 1 of Tygodnik Literacki
and issue 1 of Teksty Drugie. Marcin Baran's poem on the same
theme is currently awaiting completion in his typewriter). So it looks
like a simple statement such as "I have a toothache" can also,
in spite of expectations, "alleviate one's existential condition
with cultural meanings, allowing it to resonate." And so I don't
need to escape into references to Vermeer, Solzhenitsyn, and Dr. Freud
after all, in order to make the claim that I'd like to eat strawberries,
or go pee-pee.
2. The author of "Lwow" and "O'Harism" tries to
lower everything (I mean, raise everything) to his level of thinking
about poetry. When he writes "poetry is ...conventionally as well
as functionally artificial... After all, we don't speak poetry on the
street. Nor at the university, nor in the army," he considers these
formulations to be absolute certainties. I can't help but think of a
manuscript titled "My Poetics" currently awaiting completion
in Lech Walesa's typewriter, in which all propositions are formulated in
exactly the same manner. I for one sometimes do hear excellent poems on
the street, and I heard even better ones in the army. Naturally, there's
less poetry to be found at the university, but that's entirely the fault
of the university itself.
3. Let us consider for a moment the story of the grasshopper and the
ant. I was always on the side of the grasshopper.
4. The ant Krzysztof Koehler has it in for the grasshopper Marcin
Swietlicki because the latter, instead of covering up his emotions with
serious costumes and ethoi, takes his clothes off and "wants
to extract himself from the snares of the conventional artificiality
that is poetry, by writing poems, swinging his watch back and forth, he
assures us that he's free, authentic, above conventionality, and
thrashes about as if caught in a net of verses."
But aren't we allowed, are we REALLY not allowed to struggle, to try
something new, to make mistakes, to thrash about? Do one's first poetic
steps immediately have to turn into a topic for the seminar room and a
putting-on of the laurel wreath? Of course it's much safer that way, but
it too can lead to many grave diseases.
The grasshopper Marcin Swietlicki fortunately hasn't committed the
mistakes of his predecessor. He'll manage right where he is, with
difficulty, to make it through the winter; he won't need to ask the ant
for help.
5. Although K.K.'s article is assiduously seriyozna, there is
one moment in it of a somewhat lower caliber, a moment of light
entertainment, namely, the opening sentence: "If O'Harism is to be
the fate of poetry in this new decade, then Marcin Swietlicki stands a
chance of becoming the poet of our era's end." The Author neglects
to ground his argument; and I would be very interested to know how it is
that I am an "O'Harist," and what that term actually means.
True, in a few poems I may have provided pretexts for people to suspect
that I had read the poetry of Frank O'Hara, but does that prove
anything? Maybe I've actually soaked up more "Brautiganism,"
or even "Berrymanism." What does K.K. think about "Pattenism"?
I know that assigning literary critical definitions is like playing
with blocks, but not to such extremes. I would never take the liberty of
saying to Krzysztof Koehler: "You Zagajewskite!" "You
Rilkist!" "You Miloszean!" It's senseless, it's too easy,
it's false.
6. There is no One True and Incontrovertible Poetry. There are and
have always been many poets who DIFFER from one another in their own
ways, far removed from any "world of ideas and values grounded in
objective being." To be sure, Walesa in his work My Poetics comes
close to doubting their existence and credibility (pp. 80-90), but it is
His Poetics after all, and there's no limit to poetic approaches.
7. Of course, I could say all of this to Krzysztof Koehler
personally, in the Planty or in the luxury-class elite Krak6w cafe
"Krzysztofory," but maybe there's someone else who might be
interested in this whole history. Because this isn't just a quarrel
about poetry. In writing this - and I'm writing toward that obscure,
undefined side, toward the side of that other, distant someone. In
claiming that I have a toothache, that I'm hungry, that I'm happy - I'm
not writing just for myself. I'm sending out signals. I hope they'll be
read for what they are.
And one more thing. As the Poet said: Only boxing brings people
together.
Translated by W Martin
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