Raport z oblężonego Miasta i inne wiersze

by Zbigniew Herbert

Report from the Besieged City is another tour de force by eminent Polish poet, Zbigniew Herbert. His familiar alter ego, Mr. Cogito, is the subject of a third of the poems in this collection, and these easily stand up as well as the Cogito poems we are familiar with from the earlier eponymous collection. The rest, often on classical subjects (Damastes, the Anabasis, Babylon, Beethoven), are an excellent contrast and complement.
Herbert is on the top of his form in these poems largely written after Poland was again put under martial law. His concerns are always broad, though they are more politically oriented here. Herbert's precise moral vision is well conveyed in his verses, and it is certainly a voice worth paying attention to.
The collection is highly recommended

Genres: Poetry, Poland, Polish Literature, Literature

86 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1983

About the author

Zbigniew Herbert was a Polish poet, essayist, drama writer, author of plays, and moralist. He was also a member of the Polish resistance movement. Herbert is one of the best known and the most translated post-war Polish writers, and has been nominated several times for the Nobel Prize in literature.

Reviews

[Maurizio Manco · Rating 4 out of 5]

"permettimi di sederti accanto […]
un po’ berremo
e un po’ filosoferemo
e forse entrambi
che siamo fatti di sangue e di illusione
ci libereremo alla fine
dell’opprimente leggerezza dell'apparenza"
(La parabola di re Mida, p. 35)

[Steven Godin · Rating 5 out of 5]

Ordered the Collected Poems as a result of reading this.

[sigurd]

per arrivare alla sorgente bisogna nuotare risalendo la corrente. a scendere galleggiando sull'acqua è solo la spazzatura.

[Adrià Ibáñez Pelegrí · Rating 4 out of 5]

D'aquest poemari de Zbigniew Herbert (amb traducció al català de Grzegorz Gryc) es desprèn un dels poemes que més m'ha impressionat últimament:

FOTOGRAFIA

Amb aquest noi immòbil com la fletxa de l’Eleata
amb el noi entre les herbes altes no tinc res en comú
tret de la data de naixença en la línia digital

aquesta foto la féu mon pare abans de la guerra persa
de les fulles i dels núvols dedueixo que va ser en agost
ressonaven els ocells els grills olor de blat olor de plenitud

allà baix el riu que en els mapes romans es deia Híspanis
l’aiguavés i el tro pròxim aconsellaven d’amagar-se entre els grecs
les seues colònies del litoral no estaven gaire lluny

el noi somriu amb confiança l’única ombra que coneix
és l’ombra d’un barret de palla l’ombra del pi l’ombra de la casa
i si hi ha una resplendor és la del sol ponent

petit meu Isaac de ma vida abaixa el cap
és només una estona de dolor i després seràs
allò que vols —una oreneta un lliri blau—

així doncs he de vessar la teva sang petit meu
a fi que restis innocent en el llamp d’estiu
segur per sempre com un insecte en l’ambre
bell com una catedral de falguera salvada en el carbó

-----

Retorno a la seva lectura avui que he acabat el quadrimestre, i penso en l'assignatura de Grans Figures Literàries Poloneses de la segona meitat del segle XX, en el mestratge del Pau Freixa, en les tardes recollides de tardor amb la Malena vora el finestral que dona al jardí de Lletres; en Gombrowicz, Miłosz, Hłasko, Lem, Mrożek, Kapuściński, Tokarczuk, Masłowska i companyia, que m'han procurat les millors experiències lectores del 2021. Penso també en el matí a la biblioteca en què vam estar llegint poemes de Wisława Szymborska amb la Mariona, gairebé a cau d'orella, i no podíem parar d'emocionar-nos perquè no havíem sentit res tan proper i autèntic en molt temps.

Com a comiat el Pau ens va regalar llibres, i jo em vaig endur a Herbert i la seva Fotografia, que encara m'emociona tant.

(que aquest racó farcit d’engrunes d’amistat i classes de literatura també pugui servir de tímida fotografia d'aquells mesos feliços)

[Milan Baes · Rating 4 out of 5]

Neerslachtig en mistroostig werd ik er van.
Nochtans ben ik erg blij kennisgemaakt te hebben met deze Zbigniew Herbert.

[Leopoldo · Rating 5 out of 5]

Increíble.

[Bobparr · Rating 3 out of 5]

Non ho l'occhio per la lettura poetica, nè forse l'attenzione adeguata. Quindi mi mancano gli strumenti per la decrittazione completa.
Di tutto questo testo mi viene da salvare qualche prosa, piu' intelleggibile di altre, alcune poesie relative al signor Cogito, nonchè la squisita introduzione di Brodskij. Molta mitologia. La vita di Herbert è da conoscere, la postfazione della raccolta ne rende testimonianza.

[Antonio · Rating 5 out of 5]

"Rapporto dalla città assediata ", Zbigniew Herbert, 1983.

Non so cosa scrivere.
Perché a "certe altezze non vi è gerarchia".
Herbert è tra i più grandi, lassù nell'Olimpo.
Guarda negli occhi, da pari a pari, Pessoa, Borges e tutto il novecento della Poesia.

Vi lascio questi versi:

"un po' berremo
e un po' filosoferemo
e forse entrambi
che siamo fatti di sangue e di illusione
ci libereremo alla fine
dell'opprimente leggerezza dell'apparenza."

[Weronika W. · Rating 3 out of 5]

Tylko „Do rzeki”

[P. · Rating 4 out of 5]

Only a 4 to distinguish it from the greatness of Mr. Cogito.

Let's be clear, the poems would be great on their own, but the fact that they were written by a white-haired elfin man by the name of Zbigniew gives them an extra something.

[Evan Ziegenfus]

(1)

It is not at all strange
she isn’t the bride
of real men

of generals
athletes of power
despots

through the ages she follows them
this tearful old maid
in a dreadful hat from the Salvation Army
she reprimands them

she drags out of the junkroom
a portrait of Socrates
a little cross molded from bread
old words

—while marvelous life reverberates all around
ruddy as a slaughterhouse at dawn

she could almost be buried
in a silver casket
of innocent souvenirs

she becomes smaller and smaller
like a hair in the throat
like a buzzing in the ear

(2)

my God
if she was a little younger
a little prettier

kept up with the spirit of the times
swayed her hips
to the rhythm of popular music

maybe then she would be loved
by real men
generals athletes of power despots

if she took care of herself
looked presentable
like Liz Taylor
or the Goddess of Victory

but an odor of mothballs
wafts from her
she compresses her lips
repeats a great—No

unbearable in her stubbornness
ridiculous as a scarecrow
as the dream of an anarchist
as the lives of the saints


—Herbert, “Mr. Cogito on Virtue”

[E. C. Koch · Rating 3 out of 5]

In a joint effort, DeLillo and Wallace point me in Herbert’s direction (DeLillo in his epigraph to Cosmopolis and Wallace in his review of the then-recent English translation of Herbert’s Mr. Cogito). Following Wallace’s lead, I’m inclined to read this book of poetry as a very early marriage of pomo formal traits and popomo affect—the invocation of “uncertain clarity” in “Mr. Cogito and the Imagination” sounds to my ears like sincerity’s negotiated truth, and the “huge snout of nothingness” from “The Monster of Mr. Cogito” sounds like postmodernism itself being described. And then, following DeLillo, Herbert’s regular oblique references in his work to those in power (and their monopoly on knowledge, and their unhappiness) sounds like the nebulous forces of neoliberalism’s globalization being addressed, though perhaps not exactly defined. Obviously, someone with more experience reading poetry (which is everyone) will be able to get more out of this than I have.

[Ángel Oreste]

Llegué hasta este libro confundido por el poema que le da nombre. Digo confundido porque entre los poemas que el libro recoge no encuentro ningún otro la mitad de emocionante, de poderoso y de bello que aquel; tan solo versos sobre figuras históricas que a mí poco interés suscitan. Posiblemente no sean malos poemas (mi ignorancia en el género no me permite juzgarlos), pero desde luego poco que ver tienen con Informe de la ciudad sitiada. Es una decepción absolutamente personal.

[CJ · Rating 5 out of 5]

Would have been worth reading for the title poem alone, which was especially moving to read at a time where we receive daily reports of the devastation being done to cities across Ukraine, including the city of Herbert's birth. The way these poems both detail and transcend the brutality of life under communism is masterful.

[Paula · Rating 5 out of 5]

kim ja w ogóle jestem, by gwiazdkować Herberta, miejmy litość, ludzie kochani. jego wiersze, nawet bez pełnego zrozumienia symboli i odniesień, mają moc trafiania do człowieka siłą swojej szczerości i bystrości w obserwacji rzeczywistości. czytajmy Herberta zawsze, codziennie, dwa razy dziennie!

[Edzia · Rating 5 out of 5]

Ponowna lektura, bardzo uważna i nie jestem w stanie wyrazić, ile te wiersze dla mnie znaczą.

[Andrew Hanna · Rating 5 out of 5]

remarkable collection, some of the best i’ve ever read

[maria · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5

[Kuba · Rating 4 out of 5]

Poetry, this one speaks to me

[Scott Cox · Rating 5 out of 5]

Polish poet Zbigniew Herbert is considered one of the "War Generation of writers in Poland . . . sometimes referred to as the Generation of 'Kolumbowie' or Columbuses" (Introduction, p.viii). Though his poetry directly addresses Polish repression suffered under both Hitler and Stalin, Herbert paints his poem-portraits using a broad brush - - spanning multiple invasions and struggles; over decades, if not centuries of time. One device he uses is the frequent appearances of a Mr. Cognito - - "a pseudo-persona, a device permitting Herbert to make fun of himself or to lighten an otherwise earnest enquiry" (p.x). Also noted in the excellent introduction, Herbert is concerned with truth - - truth which frequently offended those in control. I read an account of how Herbert duped the SB Polish secret police by filling mandated reports with "interpretations of poems of Czeslaw Milosz" and with "long-winded cultural-philosophical observations which undoubtedly went well over the heads of the leading officers." In so doing, he “never harmed or betrayed anyone." However his poems are quite aggressive in their attacks against despotism:
"cemeteries grow larger the number of defenders is smaller
yet the defense continues it will continue to the end
and if the City falls but a single man escapes
he will carry the City within himself on the roads of exile
he will be the City"
(Report from the Besieged City)

[Mieczyslaw Kasprzyk · Rating 4 out of 5]

I love the title poem.

[Esthër · Rating 3 out of 5]

"no hay
nada salvo nacimiento y muerte nada sólo nacimiento y muerte"

[Mills College Library]

891.8517 H537r 1985

[Carolina · Rating 5 out of 5]

«...este es el bárbaro grito de miedo / que tu latín no puede entender».