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I'AlnlSAN KEVIEW
with a foreign language, a foreign language text, trying to transfer it into his
native tongue. In my case, it has been the conU110n effort of author and trans–
lator: thus, teamwork. At first I applied that method to translating other Polish
poets, and together with Peter Dale Scott published a volume of Zbigniew
Herbert's poetry and an anthology of post-war Polish poetry. Next I turned to
my own poems. Most of my poetry's translators take part in this festiva! and I
pay them a well-earned homage for their many hours spent patiently looking
for the proper word. In the beginning my students, Lillian Vallee and Richard
Lourie, who fortunately for me knew the language of the originals, toiled at
this task with me. Then, two Berkeley poets, Robert Pinsky and Robert Hass,
who do not know Polish, formed a team with Renata Gorczynski, who pro–
vided them wi th English versions. The composi tion of the team changed, and
Robert Hass and I have been engaged in the task since then. Similarly, as a
team, I worked with Leonard Nathan translating some of my poems, as well
as those by Aleksander Wat and Anna Swir (Swirszczynska). This adventure,
which would have bypassed me had I not emigrated to America, for me has
been proof that what you said about openness to foreigners, to other languages,
and to other ideas, is an essential feature of this country. Furthermore, my per–
sona! experience is associated in my mind wi th many similar events which
signify a new face in the life of America as a country of poetry, something
nobody suspected in the beginning of this century.
[ have witnessed the changing place of poetry on this continent, and
that witnessing was especially close, as my late friend, Joseph Brodsky,
along with Robert Hass and Robert Pinsky, were and are significant pro–
moters of poetry for all. They strive
to
enlarge the circle of readers, and
this at the present moment has a particular importance, as poetry by its very
nature resists the spiri tual devastation induced by the mass media. Thank
you-that's all I have to say.
Now, I'm going to read some poems which have a slight autobio–
graphical quality. I begin with a poem entitled "Capri ."
I am a child who receives First Communion in Wilno and
afterwards drinks cocoa served by zealous Catholic ladies.
I am an old man who remembers that day in June: the ecstasy
of the sinless, white tablecloth and the sun on vases filled with
peomes.
QII'as til fait, qll'as til fait
de
ta
l'ie?-voices call, in various
languages gathered in your wanderings through two continents.
What did you do with your life, what did you do?
