Seweryn Górczak /// 3 new poems





Bosporus



Constantinople is on beautiful fire today, but it isn’t
opening fire, of the touch between flame
and sensitive, urban wood; the freshness
poisoned by smoke. I study the date
through crystal, at a safe
indifference, an etched turn
of phrase on my lips, with the first headline word


– I stop breathing. Today, you can choose
one of a range of icons; the rest extinguished, with
verses arranged in walls hurriedly
spat out by passers by. The bridge no longer there,

 

which is why today you can choose one
of those crystal icons, before they crumble.
Before you’re cut off from
the other side of the mic,
just before the immolation.
Save?

 

 

 

 


La Noche Triste


He fell asleep, his eyelids covered in richly decorated
cuts; shadows resting against them
in harmonies, with a taste specific
to this country. We were sitting
in a half-empty apartment, dirty
light from a long unwashed bulb. I wanted
to shower, but no water was running.
A tree blocking out the only window – from behind
its leaves a crooked, shimmering city appearing, one
which, as we’ll learn later, we’ll burn down. From beneath
the floorboards the wail of glasses and complaints that,
once again, they’ve been given mirrored bottles. One voice
was too indifferent not to be mine or his. Wanting
to silence it, I turned on the television
and came upon a beautiful tale – a film
cut together from nothing but end credits.

 

 

 

 


Report


Defeat in such situations can be interpreted as insanity
only when we agree to ignore the pasts of all those generals, all the
trysts which they had to drown along with shaved off stubble in sinks,
over which matt mirrors hung, minor affairs tossed across the front, before
they could bring anybody any joy, of limited
uses and approaching use by dates. Though
this is certainly scant assurance for families which
had to break themselves into tiny shards of glass upon receiving the telegram.
And it must be small comfort to the postmen who had to
gather them up with bare hands and send them to me with complaints, instead
of funeral wreaths for those no longer concerned with hygiene. And yet

 

I can read into more things than just my own complaints – I promise that
this conflict is about to die out. The only
outcome will be a little tickly
smoke down the throat, suspended in mid-air until exhausted.

 

 

 

translated by Marek Kazmierski


 

 


Seweryn Górczak, born 1991 in Warsaw. Studying at the Stefan Wyszyński University; his poems have been published in PKP Zin, “Odra” and “Lampa”. From time to time he reads at poetry slams.


Seweryn Górczak, ur. 1991 w Warszawie. Student historii na Uniwersytecie im. kard. Stefana Wyszyńskiego; wiersze publikował w PKP Zinie, “Odrze” i “Lampie”. Od czasu do czasu występuje na slamach.
February 4, 2012 |

2011 ANNUAL REPORT /// download now







February 3, 2012 |

Wisława Szymborska 1923 – 2012

 

 

 

WHAT YOU WILL NEVER SAY AGAIN

 

 

 



 

 

 

But the poetry will live on… Wisława Szymborska – click on the image above to access her translations














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Wisława Szymborska

February 1, 2012 |

Michał Czaja – five new poems




first-person analysis. tease



“Dramatic tension in writing – a philosopher would say – is in the interplay between

the desire to possess a thing and the inability to claim it, paid for, as he will state

elsewhere, “with moments of depressing powerlessness””

Deconstruction and interpretation

Anna Burzyńska



dear madam, no one said we should write and we’re not afraid instead awfully healthy
I made the effort to look nicer today ironed my neck need only
cats for protection and drafting my ancestors’ assessments comes easy
indeed I have scrapped my arrangement with the dead which means I don’t return
home before three but do speak with an accent appropriate for time and place



madam will allow me not to spit in front of the club in case someone says
the audio performances by banal sasnal in zacheta gallery
are better than carnivals in rio and no I only neck a little spirits
in secret when no one is looking certainly not her
and so I am overall done up to the max and then some



dear madam if you wish I can clean up after myself
because it ain’t nice plus I haven’t got a job
and have to try harder although you probably didn’t know
anyway back to what I was saying no one says we should write
we’ve got ourselves into it but I don’t think this is a sin or any sort of job



and so why the whispering unless it be whispers of approval
or the whispering of a mountain stream when skiing and this my nth attempt  
at reintegrating the first person in the basement of zacheta
in moments of depressing violence and overall that ain’t it
not that but perhaps something will come of this upright libation


 


 


the woods are sober

 

 

darling the world is no more sober than I am
I am right this minute boarding a lift made by the municipal works
which means in a moment we’ll be out of range of thoughts and arms and so
I take up position parallel to the direction of travel and grab the railing  
so as not to drop out of the city’s intestines and land in the colon

 

barely dreaming of home and the warm internet which you will attach to the eyes
so I can doze off on line so that other women can drip down in letters
while you chronically tired try to catch your breath  
before another deep dive into tomorrow and you do it with such hunger  
it seems you are heading towards a world which was not made for us

 

those I meet in the compartment here are unknowns and look at me ominously
directions are mixing in my head and I don’t know if they’re coming or going
to their desks their beds children on loan loans for children
I won’t look them in the eye there’s too many private histories there
instead just look upwards towards an earth rumbling with a concrete morning

 

my friends left behind there some still dancing others want to stop but can’t
some want to stop and come and peak with declarations of enforced socialisation  
I’ll meet them here again but they have time let them have their lie-ins
on the surface before they board that damned lift and I’ll know them no longer
as for us if you ask I think it’s time to get the hell out of here perhaps into the woods

 

the woods are sober

 

 



a photo from a mobile phone taken after a poetry event


 

we make our even beds in ditches dirt
fugues gatherings lying down straight
unpecked by hens crows or other avians
reality does not turn us into themes
for our poetry or other cultural texts

 

sometimes with a daring stretch of the neck
we reach for the surface of metaphysics and mysticism
nowt to say while everyone steals glances at falling mythologies
classical that’s only just sounds now ears humming
and a revolution in value systems in line with quarterlies

 

modernity to blame for the bullshit wiggling its
ass at father’s politics ’cause what else is there to say
ads ever longer the cosmos ever nearer
boredom while as asides we toy with kitsch and
oh what a wonderful Word and everything clear

 

like a billboard slogan dragged down by its hair
we lie back seduced sleepy supermodern
and runs on does the clubber-gay-hooligan newspeak
the current leading us to a morning clash with the city  
and so friends let’s take us a group photograph

 

it’s the last gesture we’re capable of before another
tearing off of warm bedsheets to save the remnants
of face and give ourselves the chance to return to this tale
of our attempts at talking our way into some more passes
of our saintly and still ever so fresh insanity


 

 


from the left of our town


 

you like those shared spots where we talk books and lounge with laptops
once again someone tried to instruct me in tip top manners
but I tipped and fell hard my ever so tender neck straining in my track suit
sensitive to touch repressions and all fears of coverings and influences

 

I try not to let myself loose and not to feel pressure in terms of cool
political scenes if only I knew how not to vote and align myself
with current perspectives in cultural publications and young poland
which is after all as much ours as any subject of discussion in this cafe

 

you want to go to the march I don’t think I do and I’ll go though a little off
some sentences stuck in the throat my world views left unshouted  
because in the end I do not understand them myself as they are not ready
to fit with the terms of our aims of developing this town

 

be more street and yet how and what to mark the self with in terms of differences
any logo is a state of soul this I know taking more exams in said discipline
so I’ll log in to the system from the left because this is the obvious consequence
and one cannot do otherwise in today’s time zones along our latitudes

 

 



five seconds


 

five seconds mano a mano five seconds facing that face
numbers don’t lie walls don’t embrace or instruct in whispers

 

nothing matters aside from this retrospection retirement
survive only this much inside me too many bodies
opposite cells louder than my television set
I will wait for the ads they always shove to the fore

 

shouting preening they are just so perfect for this very moment
perhaps they’ll turn off the nodding in me or buy me out
nodding is something I inherited from my nan who needled me
now only the lack I’m too big she too small

 

I once knew how to play with a crayon fly it cutting the air
cutting space with a crayon children were only outside the window
I didn’t know their names now I would like to call them all
open the windows let some of them in let them shout
let each one have such a crayon let slice let cut

 

it is too thick I’ve held my breath
perhaps it was for five seconds

 

she came in and made it lighter time stopped weighing so much

 

 


translated by Marek Kazmierski


 



Michał Czaja (born 1983 in Warsaw). Literary and cultural critic, lecturer, works in partnership with the research team Literatura and Konteksty in IBL, and recently became the editor of the literary quarterly Wakat on-line, having been involved in the Warsaw literary scene for a number of years. In May of 2011, as part of the “Debiuty” series, his first volume of poetry “Bo to nowa krytyka będzie o miłości” was published by Staromiejski Dom Kultury. He lives in Warsaw.


Michał Czaja (ur. 1983 w Warszawie) Teoretyk literatury i kultury, wykładowca, współpracuje z zespołem badawczym Literatura i Konteksty w IBL, od niedawna współredaguje kwartalnik literacki Wakat on-line, od wielu lat związany z warszawskim środowiskiem literackim. W maju w serii “Debiuty” Staromiejskiego Domu Kultury ukazał się jego debiutancki tomik “Bo to nowa krytyka będzie o miłości”. Mieszka w Warszawie.
January 27, 2012 |

“Changes” at the Topolski Century






Collaborative Art and Topolski Century Gallery would like to invite you to the private view of the group exhibition “Changes” on Thursday 9th of February at 6:30pm.


The theme is inspired by the monumental work of sketches and drawings of Feliks Topolski who captured the fundamental changes that shaped the 20th century and encapsulated the recollection of this controversial era in a labyrinth of murals under the arches at the Topolski Century Memoir.


As time passed, new events aroused the creativity and imagination of the artists that witness the fast pace evolution that changes the facet of our everyday life.


At the onset of the most contentious year of the 21st century; with changes anticipated by many that could transform the world we are accustomed to, a group of international artists from diverse backgrounds and different art practices are attempting to capture the idea of change, from its literal form to a deeper personal evolution, that questions the place of the singularity in this cohesion of alternating future of human kind itself.


Andy McCafferty, Daniel Bevan, Ewa Obrochta, Francesc Maquede, Francesca D’Ascari, Froso Papadimitriou, Giulia Bocchi, Hiromi Tsuha, Iago Bartivas, JiYoung Kim, Rafal Bizunowicz, Rodrigo Pires, Sophia Mirza, Tyrone Joseph


will create a chamber of discussion with the viewer about the understanding of change in one’s life, from an immense cosmic event to a minute alteration in the repetitive pattern of daily routine.


Thursday 9/2 – Wednesday 15/2/2012, 11:30am – 4:00pm, Saturday closed.
Sunday 12/2 family workshop inspired by the theme of the exhibition 12:00 – 4:00pm.


Topolski Century, 150-152 Hungerford Arches South Bank, London SE1 8XU
Further information please visit: www.topolskicentury.org.uk




|

BEAT THE DUST OFF_ JANUARY 2012



THIS MONTH, WE ARE TEAMING UP WITH THE INDIE GIANTS BEAT THE DUST TO GIVE YOU A QUICK FIX OF THE BEST CONTEMPORARY POLISH POETRY HAS TO OFFER…


CLICK ON THE IMAGE BELOW TO VISIT BTD AND READ AND LISTEN ON (ALL POEMS AVAILABLE AS PODCASTS TOO)













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January 25, 2012 |

THE FORGETTING OF PROPER NAMES opening tomorrow














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January 23, 2012 |

POLISH POETRY SINCE 1989 – A BRIEF RECONNAISSANCE

 

Presentation given as part of the Polish Literature since 1989 conference, University College London, 2011

 



THE END OF THE OLD GUARD


The collapse of the Polish Communist State in 1989 also meant the end of the ominously-named Main Bureau for Control of the Press, Publishing and Public Performance (Główny Urząd Kontroli Prasy, Publikacji i Widowisk). However, poetry publishing, though suddenly freed from the censor‘s scissors, had to now contend with new and hitherto unknown enemy – free market forces. Poetry volumes begun appearing in ever smaller print runs, stripped of state-funded distribution and promotion, becoming a niche phenomena in the process. Yet, within literary circles of the time, there existed the expectation that this dramatic shift would also have a positive effect and a new generation of poets would follow the old guard, commenting and shaping a free Poland in the same way their predecessors had fought with their pens to help define and attain this freedom. Alternative cultural circles popped up all over the country, countless new zines being produced on previously inaccessible photocopiers, along with alternative newspapers and freely-organised live readings. Students set up their own literary journals in Krakow, Warsaw, Poznan, Gdansk and Silesia, which also involved the publication of many new volumes of poetry.



This watershed began as early as 1986, with the publication of the now-famous “blue issue” of Literature around the World (Literatura na Świecie), its cover depicting a ticket to the Museum of Modern Art in New York. This ground-breaking publication contained the work of poets such as Frank O‘Hara, John Ashbery, Kenneth Koch and others associated with the New York School, translated by Piotr Sommer and Bohdan Zadura, both well known poets in their own right. This particular issue had a huge influence on a new wave of Polish poets, causing a seismic shift in influence from Russian and French poets to those from the long-forbidden English language West.

Read the rest of this entry »

January 17, 2012 |

Short stories by Franz Kafka, illustrated by Andrzej Płoski






A selection of short stories by Franz Kafka, illustrated by Andrzej Ploski, a well-known Polish artist from Lund, Sweden. Several commentaries on Kafka’s prose are also included. (in Polish)



click on the image above to access external link…



January 16, 2012 |

Five new poems from Marek Kołodziejski




THE SONG OF THE BAD



All gone now. Burnt to a crisp, down
to pure ash. Down to absolute zero.
The end of that which persists.
Persists in wait to be substituted,
for nothing is for ever, as we know.


Nice boys source their rebellion
from black shops. In readiness
for first dates. For the second
they will buy something else. The real
bad boys gone, employed elsewhere.


Engaged by corporations.
On expense accounts and gold
cards. And now our old bad boys are
supervising the building of the tallest of towers.
And this is their song. The song the
guests will hear upon its unveiling.

 

Where poisoned vodka with poisoned
girls will be served. Girls with that
indicator inside them. The air thick
with the air of luxury. The good
dead. Those who remain will launch
a new season, and I will write them a song.


A song about how it is
all ash.


 


YEARS OF PRACTICE

 


First the detail, there being too much of it
to get your head around with a single gaze.
Oh hell, you whisper under your breath, unheard of,
and then it’s all exclamation marks.


Intercourse continues and leads to new fragments found,
fragments which find their fans. Initial delighting
turns out too common, so now it’s time for expertise.
To be contemplated, like a Xi Shi tea pot.


You spend years piecing this together, attaching, adding,
and in the end it comes out completely something other than.
And so I can now tell you – Ingres,
not an ass! Not and ass at all! And smile right after.

 




30 MILES OF EARLY SAILING

 


For conversation, says the Captain, you need
both shouting and whispering. Breathless
you can only die, though this is not enough.


To catch seaborne creatures, as to
perform operas, one needs
a huge voice. Killing like an aria.


However, once it is all over, you whisper
in private a tale of higher destinies,
translated fireworks, simple bullshit sometimes.


And yet the origin of everything is –
this is the Captain talking still – the breath. You are born,
he says, though you look like you are drowning.

 

An oxygen bath, colours, lights! Oh castles,
mansions! The driver of the bus pontificating
about Baudelaire. The Captain shrugs his shoulders.


Swim, then, in an aerial aquarium.
Listen to the song of the swallows, they are the ones
who kill. Oh, Captain, my Captain!




A MEASURE OF DISTANCE


It is becoming dangerous, as dawn rises
and the trance passes. What was, leaves. In its
swat-stained place the dawn crawling along,
cold and tangible.


The night has no memory. Dreams always come out
of nothing, of a hat. Which is why we need to
record now, when the shadows
are still grey.


Shadows darkening, maturing into
memory. The sun burns a hole in a cloud,
then it starts to rain. Slugs slithering
onto the path without fear.


This guy, Kołodziejski, we spent
a lot of years together and don’t bother
each other that much any more. He’s funny,
hugging his hollow point.




Translated by Marek Kazmierski




Marek Kołodziejski, lives in Inowrocław. His first book of poetry “Przekreślony horyzont” was published in 1983. 2009 saw the publication of his poetry collection “Koniec świata”, followed in 2011 by “Linijki” (Miniatura Press). The author regularly posts his verse on his own blog.


Marek Kołodziejski, mieszka w Inowrocławiu. Debiutował w roku 1983 książką „Przekreślony horyzont”. W 2009 roku wydał tomik: „Koniec świata”, w 2011 kolejny -„Linijki” (oba w Wydawnictwie „Miniatura”). Autor publikuje swoje wiersze na blogu.
January 13, 2012 |

Anna Bikont Receives the European Book Prize



January 7, 2012 |

OFF_PRESS – THE_BEST_OF_2011






THE STORY SO FAR_


In following our aim of promoting books and bringing together artists creating in different languages, we have published over 50 authors this year alone, contributing to the growing trend for reading literature in translation, in the UK and beyond.


In 2011, our second year of existence, we focused mainly on promoting Polish poetry. OFF_PRESS produced ten books in total (including a trilogy and two books under one combined title), all of them in Polish and English translation, with films on DVD shot specifically for each book. We have published the work of writers and translators from Poland, the UK and the US. Our authors include both emerging talent as well as the most established names in the cannon of central European literature, many of them winners of Poland’s most prestigious literary prizes.


Many of the books are hand-made by artists based in the UK using various binding styles, including ancient Japanese techniques, helping to provide an income and outlet for their talents. Producing books in this way has generated a lot of interest and given OFF_PRESS a unique selling point at a time when many are writing print media off as a dying format.


At the same time, OFF_PRESS is very much keeping up with digital times – our website, use of multimedia as part of live literature events, work with film makers and musicians and, most importantly, translations into the most widely read language in the world, allow us to continue in our mission to link with artists, organisations and readers around the globe.


Our participation in international literary festivals both in the UK and in Poland has helped us achieve these aims. Through numerous trips across Europe, including over a dozen public readings and several literary events, we have successfully brought Polish literature to the attention of British readers and translations into English to Polish audiences.


We have secured distribution of our books in shops across Poland and will be devoting 2012 to securing distribution throughout the EU and beyond. Towards the end of the year we secured our first sources of financial support from the Polish Cultural Institute and the Ministry of Culture in Poland.


Marek Kazmierski | Editor



50+ authors published

10 books translated

53 online publications

6 documentaries shot

5 events and conferences

10+ public meetings with writers



the full 2011 report will be available soon…















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January 4, 2012 |

Jakobe Mansztajn was born in… / urodził się w…

 




Which Polish city was Jakobe Mansztajn born in? - The correct answer is GDYNIA… If you are one of the five lucky winners, you will have received an email from us already. Congratulations!


W którym z polskich miast urodził się Jakobe Mansztajn? Poprawna odpowiedź to GDYNIA… jeśli jesteś jedną z pięciu osób które wygrały zestaw z książką i filmem, już otrzymaliście od nas mejla. Gratulujemy!











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December 28, 2011 |

Win a Mansztajn UPDATE / Wygraj Mansztajna NOWOSCI

 




Which Polish city was Jakobe Mansztajn born in? - The correct answer will be published here, as soon as we have confirmation of winners’ names…


W którym z polskich miast urodził się Jakobe Mansztajn? Poprawna odpowiedź będzie opublikowana tutaj, kiedy już potwierdzimy nazwiska laureatów konkursu…





Jakobe Mansztajn wishing you all a very lucky Xmas













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December 23, 2011 |

Wioletta Grzegorzewska – Smena’s Memory – available NOW







This first collection from one of Poland’s most promising poets spans the course of an already rich publishing career, covering her childhood and the experience of growing up in post-Communist Poland to her most recent struggles with life in England and the continuation of her existence as a woman of letters on foreign soil. This is the first time her work has been published in English, representing an important moment for contemporary poetry produced outside of Poland.


The book also contains the poems in the original Polish.


ISBN 9780956394682
Genre Poetry
Pages 112
Languages English / Polish


Wioletta Grzegorzewska – born in 1974 in southern Poland. Her poetry volumes include Wyobraźnia kontrolowana (Częstochowa 1998), Parantele (Częstochowa 2003), Orinoko (Tychy 2008) and Inne obroty (Toronto – Rzeszów 2010). Her poems have been published in the following literary journals: “Arterie”, “Arkusz”, “OFF_Press”, “Studium”, “Tygiel Kultury” and “Zeszyty Literackie”. She won the “Tyska Zima Poetycka” competition for the publication of a volume of post-debut poetry. Her poems have been translated into English. In 2006, she left Poland and moved to the UK, where she currently resides in the town of Ryde on the Isle of Wight.

Cena 50.00zl z przesyłką do Polski.

Przelew Santander Bank Plc / sort code 09-06-66 / acc number 42690657 / IBAN GB51ABBY09066642690657 / SWIFT-BIC code ABBYG2L xxx.

prosimy o przesłanie emaila do info@off-press.org podąjac imie, nazwisko i adres pocztowy.
Shipping options




 

 








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‘

December 20, 2011 |

Prospect – New writing from the east side of the old Berlin Wall




New writing from the east side of the old Berlin Wall makes the west look complacent




JULIAN EVANS






“In the last two decades, the European literary landscape has been redrawn. The rush of most former communist states to join the European Union has rehabilitated a European consciousness that no longer comes to a dead end east of Potsdamer Platz and south of the Karawanken Alps. The continent’s east and west have, you would think, been very busy in mutual influence. But deep cultural change is so slow that it resembles one of those huge Victorian steam-engine flywheels, its momentum building at a speed almost invisible to the naked eye. Just as the elements that led to the fall of the Berlin Wall accumulated imperceptibly through 20 years of stagnation after the Prague Spring, it is only now that we can begin to grasp this change in European literary priorities.

A quartet of books published this year and next—two from the literary high table of western Europe, two from eastern European writers—embody some of the shifts that have taken place, from leisured complacency to a more urgent sense of enquiry, from conventional sketches of the continent to a new reality for Europe. This is a place where, culturally at least, neither Paris nor Berlin, nor any capital city, remains a centre of gravity.”



to continue reading, click on the image above… external link / Prospect Magazine

December 12, 2011 |

Win a Mansztajn for Xmas / Wygraj Mansztajna na Święta

 




Win a copy of Jakobe Mansztajn’s new book VIENNA HIGH LIFE, hand-bound, in the original Polish and English translation, along with a documentary film about the author on DVD – simply email the answer to the following question: Which Polish city was Jakobe Mansztajn born in? to info@off-press.org with your name and postal address. We have 5 copies to give away – every 20th person to email us with the correct answer wins!



Wygraj egzemplarz ręcznie szytego tomu poezji VIENNA HIGH LIFE z wierszami Jakobe Mansztajna. Książka zawiera polski oryginał nagradzanego debiutu wraz z angielskim tłumaczeniem. Co więcej do każdego egzemplarza dołączony jest film dokumentalny na DVD o autorze. Wystarczy tylko odpowiedzieć na pytanie: W którym z polskich miast urodził się Jakobe Mansztajn? Odpowiedź prześlij na adres info@off-press.org … Do rozdania mamy 5 egzemplarzy, a wygrywa co 20 osoba, który prześle nam e-maila z prawidłową odpowiedzią.







Jakobe Mansztajn wishing you all a very lucky Xmas





 

 

Śmierć jest dla mnie największym szaleństwem – wywrota.pl


Wywiad z Jakobe Mansztajnem, laureatem Wrocławskiej Nagrody Poetyckiej Silesius za rok 2010 w kategorii debiut i kilku innych ciekawych nagród.


Marcin Sierszyński: Zdecydowałeś się wydać Wiedeński high life po angielsku, w prężnie działającej oficynie OFF_press. Mógłbyś opowiedzieć, jak doszło do tej publikacji?


Jakobe Mansztajn: Leżałem chory w łóżku, lekarz powiedział, żebym nie wychodził i jakoś między jedną a kolejną aspiryną zadzwonił redaktor naczelny „Korespondencji z ojcem” w sprawie takiej mianowicie, że właśnie siedzi w Sopocie z pewnym wydawcą z Londynu, Markiem Kaźmierskim, który chciałby ze mną pogadać. Odpowiedziałem, że dziś nie ma takiej opcji, bo leżę chory i żebyśmy może spotkali się jutro. Spotkaliśmy się nazajutrz w kawiarni Józef K. Od słowa do słowa i Marek rzucił hasło, abyśmy przetłumaczyli książkę, na co ja, że pewnie, przetłumaczmy książkę. Ale tak naprawdę zaczęło się kilka tygodni wcześniej – nasza wspólna znajoma, poetka Wioletta Grzegorzewska, zaproponowała, abym wysłał Markowi kilka swoich tekstów. Wysłałem, Markowi najwidoczniej się spodobały, bo odpowiedział, że mu się podobają, a później zupełnym przypadkiem wylądował w Sopocie i tak się poznaliśmy…


by czytać dalej, kliknij zdjęcie poniżej (external link – www.wywrota.pl)


Photo by Natalia Mierzewska












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December 8, 2011 |

Cover story: a year of beautiful books



This year for the first time more ebooks were sold than hardbacks. Publishers have responded by bringing out exquisite new releases and revamps of classics… Kathryn Hughes in The Guardian Online






“In his recent Booker acceptance speech, Julian Barnes did the usual polite thing of thanking his editors and his agent. But then, just when everyone thought he was done, he veered off in an entirely unexpected direction to pay animated tribute to Suzanne Dean, “the best book designer in town”, who had turned his prize-winning novel into “a beautiful object”. The Sense of an Ending does indeed come clad in a lovely cover, an elegiac visual riff on dandelion clocks, which darkens at the edge to black, an idea of mourning that then runs over the edges of the pages themselves. At least it does in the early editions. Such little touches are both fiddly and expensive (which comes to the same thing) so subsequent reprintings have left off the darkened page ends. It’s a decision, Dean herself admits, that is going to make the first editions of the novel just that little bit more desirable in years to come.”



read on by clicking the image above





December 3, 2011 |

Why everything in Poland is still poetry and why that is not always a good thing




Marek Kazmierski, Rafal Gawin, Jakobe Mansztajn and Joanna Lech (fot. Marcin Balczewski)






Ten things I learnt in the course of a 3000 mile trip round Poland, promoting ten OFF_PRESS titles, holding events with six writers and talking to over a dozen booksellers across the country;


 

  1. In preparation for next year‘s Euro 2012, the Polish National Railways (PKP) have demolished ALL its major stations, ripped up most of the tracks and are running even slower than under communism. Still, all that waiting should be good for passenger reading habits.

  2. If you think travelling with a laptop is better than with lots of heavy books, try asking PKP staff if they have Wi-Fi onboard – their responses will make you weep for the next ten or so hours of your journey.

  3. Polish bookshops sell more cakes than they do books. I guess Poles will be getting fatter, not smarter, sitting on them trains.

  4. Don’t even ASK about poetry sales. Only Milosz is in permanent stock, and only because his books are easier to wrap and carry than flowers or fresh cream gateaux over to grandma’s birthday.

  5. No matter how famous an author you are, there is zero guarantee anyone will come to your reading. Sometimes 70, sometimes seven people show up. At least one of them will be the aforementioned grandma.

  6. Each city in Poland has its own unique feel, flavour and highly hermetic literary clique. This is why over a thousand new titles of poetry appear in Poland each year and why most of them look and read “cottage industry”.

  7. Great poets love language and so listen to that spoken by others. Good poets talk all the time, always about poetry. And bad poets just keep talking about themselves until someone either a) walks out of the room, b) starts shouting or c) hits them… Usually during a live poetry reading.

  8. Try all three for best guarantee of success. Their grandma will usually approve.

  9. There are some amazingly inspirational booksellers all across the land (Justyna Grabska in Sopot, David Miller in Krakow, Piotr Rosol in Warsaw, Grzegorz Czekanski in Wroclaw, Danuta Brzozowska in Lodz). Times will be hard, but they are far more forward thinking that most of the poets and publishers I met along the way.

  10. Poland is insufferably beautiful, even in cold, early winter sun. The neon lights, the young and the old mixing in the streets, the bookshops and milkbars and monuments everywere. But it does need freshening up. Let’s hope it produces “less is more” poetry, along with lots of new Polish-to-English translators, who we can then publish in the coming years.

 

End of sermon…




Marek Kazmierski, OFF_PRESS editor, shot by Joanna Joy Herman, Warsaw 11/11







 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

















in association with































































































































































































































































It’s winter 1988. The first time I’m home alone

and scared of answering the phone. The model Spitfire

is still drying, its badly set undercarriage

doing the sideways splits. Outside the window, a snowy monument

- night, the lady of both tides. The silence


between rings is unbearable.

Twenty years on, I’m still scared of answering

the phone. Before me – an iron road, jaws


snapping, the whisper of grit, the squeal of sprockets,

waves of nausea. And love like overweight baggage,

like a vial of glue or green grease. Write it down:

inclined plane. Ten years earlier: unfortunate

drive up a ramp, a tiny skateboard wheel loose and the fall.


What an arena, dreams of fresh leaves on snow,

perfect surfaces of abandoned kites.

And also faith in the immortality of flesh and sudden silence


between rings. Diagnosis: cracked ankle

joint. Diagnosis: the hourglass smashed.

December 1, 2011 |

mansztajn /// lech /// warszawa, jutro

 

 

 

 


 









in association with

























































































































































































































































It’s winter 1988. The first time I’m home alone

and scared of answering the phone. The model Spitfire

is still drying, its badly set undercarriage

doing the sideways splits. Outside the window, a snowy monument

- night, the lady of both tides. The silence


between rings is unbearable.

Twenty years on, I’m still scared of answering

the phone. Before me – an iron road, jaws


snapping, the whisper of grit, the squeal of sprockets,

waves of nausea. And love like overweight baggage,

like a vial of glue or green grease. Write it down:

inclined plane. Ten years earlier: unfortunate

drive up a ramp, a tiny skateboard wheel loose and the fall.


What an arena, dreams of fresh leaves on snow,

perfect surfaces of abandoned kites.

And also faith in the immortality of flesh and sudden silence


between rings. Diagnosis: cracked ankle

joint. Diagnosis: the hourglass smashed.

November 24, 2011 |
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