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derives by necessity from the limitations that circumscribe and define all
human existence: this joy, she writes, is "the revenge of a
mortal
hand"
(my italics). "The twinkling of an eye," she exults, "will take as long as
I say, / and will, if I wish, divide into tiny eternities, / full of bullets
stopped in mid-flight." But "what's here isn't life," she reminds us: the
poet's temporary revenge makes sense only against the backdrop of a
world in which bullets can't be halted by rhymes and poetry's "tiny eter–
nities" are quickly gobbled up by greedy time. Szymborska's ephemeral
triumphs are tied to defeat in the same way that Bishop'S shaky efforts
to master loss are trailed by their inescapable rhyme word, "disaster."
If
poetry itself can effect only momentary "stays against confusion,"
then what can possibly be gained by its parasitical in-law, translation?
Let's turn here briefly to Baranczak's version of Bishop'S "One Art," and
take a look at what's been lost and found in translation. First things
first: Baranczak keeps the form, and he keeps it beautifully. He even
manages, miraculously enough, to retain some of Bishop's key enjamb–
ments. Polish doesn't permit him to imitate the eloquent series of
rhymes and half-rhymes that Bishop builds around "master" and "dis–
aster": "fluster," "faster," "last, or," "vaster," "gesture." He compen–
sates, though, with a sequence of movingly imperfect rhymes in the
stanzas' second lines:
"przeczucie," "klucze," "uciec," "uklucie," "nie
wroce," "w sztuce."
Even a rough translation of these phrases is enough
to show how closely he sticks to the original poem's sense: "forebod–
ing," "keys," "to flee," "pang," "won't return," "in art." He can't sal–
vage the seemingly crucial rhyme of "master / disaster" in his Polish
text-and it's a loss, but it isn't a disaster. And this is largely because he
manages to retain the exquisite villanelle form of the original lyric. The
poem's structuring patterns of continuity and slippage, repetition and
change, form a perfect analogue to its concern with what is lost through
time and what may be retained . Without these, the poem would indeed
be lost in translation.
Let me turn now to what Baranczak makes of this form within his
own work. Two of
Chirurgiczna precyzja's
most moving lyrics are vil–
lanelles, and the poems share not only the form of "One Art"; they also
mirror its concern with mastery and loss, with time's inevitable depre–
dations as partially countered by art. In "She Cried That Night" partic–
ularly, Baranczak draws upon Bishop'S psychologizing of the villanelle
form, as repetition, recognition, and resistance intertwine to dramatize
the psyche's efforts both to evade and accept knowledge almost past
bearing. (She turns another inherited form to similar ends in her glori–
ous "Sestina.") The poetic form is crucial to the forms of knowing and
