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En la belleza ajena
Libro de memorias y diario, En la belleza ajena puede considerarse, hoy por hoy, la obra maestra del gran escritor polaco contemporáneo Adam Zagajewski. Escrito en una prosa espléndida –prosa de un gran prosista y poeta–, éste es uno de esos libros capaces de cautivar al lector desde las primeras páginas. Defensa de la poesía y meditación sobre la historia; estampas de ciudades vividas y semblanzas de personas célebres y anónimas; pequeños ensayos sobre grandes temas y colección de aforismos, que pueden espigarse aquí y allá en el transcurso de la lectura; álbum lírico en que el autor reproduce y comenta algunas composiciones de poetas predilectos; notas al margen de libros leídos en concentrada lectura; impresiones suscitadas por la escucha fervorosa de obras musicales o la contemplación asombrada de cuadros de los grandes maestros: todo esto –y mucho más– es En la belleza ajena.
252 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1998
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555 people want to read
About the author
Adam Zagajewski
109 books205 followersAdam Zagajewski was a Polish poet, novelist, translator and essayist. He was awarded the 2004 Neustadt International Prize for Literature.
The Zagajeski family was expelled from Lwów by the Ukrainians to central Poland in 1945.
In 1982 he emigrated to Paris, but in 2002 he returned to Poland, and now resides in Kraków.
His poem "Try To Praise The Mutilated World", printed in The New Yorker, became famous after the 9/11 attacks.
He is considered a leading poet of the Generation of '68, or Polish New Wave (Polish: Nowa fala), and one of Poland's most prominent contemporary poets.
Source: wikipedia.com
The Zagajeski family was expelled from Lwów by the Ukrainians to central Poland in 1945.
In 1982 he emigrated to Paris, but in 2002 he returned to Poland, and now resides in Kraków.
His poem "Try To Praise The Mutilated World", printed in The New Yorker, became famous after the 9/11 attacks.
He is considered a leading poet of the Generation of '68, or Polish New Wave (Polish: Nowa fala), and one of Poland's most prominent contemporary poets.
Source: wikipedia.com
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 39 reviews
July 5, 2023
..atradu šo skaisto dārgumu Cēsu grāmatu mājiņā. likās, ka būs gana laba lasīšanai, bet grāmata mani pārsteidza. dzejoļi tik sasodīti skaisti. brīnos, ka latviski nav izdota vēl kāda autora grāmata. | 4.5*
May 4, 2013
Adam Zagajewski se ha planteado con sensibilidad e inteligencia el dilema de nuestro tiempo, dividido entre lo sublime y lo irónico. ¿Por qué hemos abandonado lo sagrado? ¿Cómo enfrentarse al mundo si no hay nada en qué creer? Todo ello desde el punto de vista de la estética, de la filosofía, pero sobre todo, de la poesía. Así fue en "Una defensa del fervor" y así lo hace nuevamente en esta obra maestra: "En la belleza ajena".
"En la belleza ajena" es un "collage": diario, crónica, miscelánea con estampas de viaje, colección de citas y aforismos, ensayo y poesía. Con la maestría de un estilo maduro, sobrio, siempre sutil, traza un viaje que va de su juventud como estudiante en Polonia hasta la actualidad. Este viaje le permite analizar problemas tan diversos como el socialismo, las ciencias sociales, las costumbres de los pueblos y la poesía, en una búsqueda por comprender el sentido profundo de su arte, de la belleza en las cosas, en las personas.
Es un libro revelador. Para aquellos que se han planteado los mismos asuntos servirá como faro y guía, pues me atrevo a afirmar que en este libro "está todo". Una obra sin igual, un hermoso texto que solo puede ser descrito como una nueva defensa del fervor: una búsqueda inalcanzable por el fuego eterno que nunca podremos alcanzar.
"En la belleza ajena" es un "collage": diario, crónica, miscelánea con estampas de viaje, colección de citas y aforismos, ensayo y poesía. Con la maestría de un estilo maduro, sobrio, siempre sutil, traza un viaje que va de su juventud como estudiante en Polonia hasta la actualidad. Este viaje le permite analizar problemas tan diversos como el socialismo, las ciencias sociales, las costumbres de los pueblos y la poesía, en una búsqueda por comprender el sentido profundo de su arte, de la belleza en las cosas, en las personas.
Es un libro revelador. Para aquellos que se han planteado los mismos asuntos servirá como faro y guía, pues me atrevo a afirmar que en este libro "está todo". Una obra sin igual, un hermoso texto que solo puede ser descrito como una nueva defensa del fervor: una búsqueda inalcanzable por el fuego eterno que nunca podremos alcanzar.
November 26, 2020
Cerca de dos meses para terminar la obra cumbre de Zagajewski en prosa, un volumen de memorias y ensayos que sintetiza el pensamiento del gran poeta polaco; páginas repletas de reflexiones sobre la poesía, la creación artística, la música y, en general, la vida con mayúsculas. La mayor parte de los textos se ubican en la Cracovia de los sesenta y setenta, en el ambiente académico e intelectual del que participaba el autor, pero no se limitan a este escenario. Leerlo es una delicia. Su estilo hace posible acercarse a cualquier tema, incluso cuando habla de algo muy contemporáneo suyo y que a priori despertaría escaso interés. Es un libro para abrir en momentos de calma, para subrayar, para consumir sin ninguna prisa, en el estado anímico que abre las puertas a esa belleza ajena a la que alude su título. Lo definiría como una lectura para todos aquellos que aman la vida, aquellos a los que invoca Zagajewski en uno de mis pasajes favoritos y que llegó a emocionarme:
[...] ¿Por qué, entonces, alabé en otro tiempo la juventud y, a partir del instante —del largo instante— en que empecé a alejarme definitivamente de ella, callé, cerré ese poco original capítulo de mi obra? ¿Se trataba del conformismo normal, vulgar, del oportunismo del literato que empieza a envejecer, que lucha por un sitio en la mesa? Espero que no. Se le ocurre a uno aquí la posibilidad de otra explicación: quien es joven, exalta la juventud, sobre todo si es un joven literato, un poco porque no conoce todavía otros elementos. Después, cuando aparecen, pasamos por la experiencia del dolor, del sexo, del matrimonio (con lo que hay en él de maravilloso y de difícil), del tedio, de la pobreza o de la opulencia, de la muerte materna. Vamos cambiando tanto exterior como interiormente. Se nos cae el pelo, perdemos esa célebre silueta que tanto gusta a poetas y pintores. Llegamos a conocer otras lenguas y países. Sentimos tanto la alegría como la amargura; momentos o épocas enteras de amargura, de desengaño. Todo cambia, despacio, día tras día, año tras año. Nos volvemos otros, verdaderamente otros. Y, sin embargo, en medio de esta lenta, permanente y suave catástrofe, no deja de asombrarnos una sola cosa: la juventud no nos abandona del todo. De acuerdo, existe de forma distinta a antes, no tan presuntuosa como en otros tiempos, existe en porciones, pedazos, no en un macizo y resplandeciente bloque de oro, pero, no obstante, no deja de existir. ¿Qué podría significar eso? Sólo se me ocurre una explicación: eso que llamábamos la juventud, no era en absoluto la juventud, sino que, sencillamente, era la vida. Adorábamos la vida.
[...] ¿Por qué, entonces, alabé en otro tiempo la juventud y, a partir del instante —del largo instante— en que empecé a alejarme definitivamente de ella, callé, cerré ese poco original capítulo de mi obra? ¿Se trataba del conformismo normal, vulgar, del oportunismo del literato que empieza a envejecer, que lucha por un sitio en la mesa? Espero que no. Se le ocurre a uno aquí la posibilidad de otra explicación: quien es joven, exalta la juventud, sobre todo si es un joven literato, un poco porque no conoce todavía otros elementos. Después, cuando aparecen, pasamos por la experiencia del dolor, del sexo, del matrimonio (con lo que hay en él de maravilloso y de difícil), del tedio, de la pobreza o de la opulencia, de la muerte materna. Vamos cambiando tanto exterior como interiormente. Se nos cae el pelo, perdemos esa célebre silueta que tanto gusta a poetas y pintores. Llegamos a conocer otras lenguas y países. Sentimos tanto la alegría como la amargura; momentos o épocas enteras de amargura, de desengaño. Todo cambia, despacio, día tras día, año tras año. Nos volvemos otros, verdaderamente otros. Y, sin embargo, en medio de esta lenta, permanente y suave catástrofe, no deja de asombrarnos una sola cosa: la juventud no nos abandona del todo. De acuerdo, existe de forma distinta a antes, no tan presuntuosa como en otros tiempos, existe en porciones, pedazos, no en un macizo y resplandeciente bloque de oro, pero, no obstante, no deja de existir. ¿Qué podría significar eso? Sólo se me ocurre una explicación: eso que llamábamos la juventud, no era en absoluto la juventud, sino que, sencillamente, era la vida. Adorábamos la vida.
December 28, 2024
Cudo niezmiennie.
August 31, 2013
It’s my understanding that Adam Zagajewski, the Polish poet who now splits his time between Paris and Houston, doesn’t like to refer to Another Beauty as memoir. And at first glance one would be inclined to agree that the volume, though it recounts his days as a university student in Krakow in the 1960s and 70s, truly is something else entirely. There is no recognizable narrative thread. There is no chronology, with Zagajewski shifting back and forth in his timeline at will with little reason for doing so. Many parts of the book read like snippets from his writing journal—intriguing bits of folly that seem to go no farther than his committing the thought to paper. Here’s an example: “When it comes to punctuation, the period is the haughtiest of signs. After me the deluge…” However in all these disparate parts, Zagajewski has created, whether he meant to or not, a fine example of the postmodern memoir that encourages us to look past all these moving pieces to sense the wholeness he himself sought as he wandered the streets of Krakow.
Early in the book Zagajewski establishes his humility as he describes his lukewarm approach to his work as a student. Humility, as Patrick Madden noted in his 2013 Vermont College of Fine Arts lecture on the postmodern memoir, is a feature of the postmodern memoir standing against the drama, exaggeration, and self-aggrandizement of the traditional memoir: “The more humble the writer is, the more likely he or she is to write in a more literary way, seeking out the universal in the details of one’s life.” Zagajewski paints himself as inattentive, mediocre, and more interested in poetry than his philosophy books.
“I never finished anything. I wasn’t a good student. Descartes lost patience, Aristotle looked askance. They already knew that this was no young philosopher poring for hours over the pages of their immortal tracts. It was only a poet, a dabbler who couldn’t refine a concept or elaborate new nuances in existing categories if his life depended on it.”
He gives the reader some grounding early in the book when he spends time describing the street he lives on, his shabby living quarters and the woman who owns the building, a Mrs. C who “was preoccupied with her historical mission, with the defense of her own social position, the defense of feudalism in a hostile Communist environment.” This establishes Zagajewski’s place and his fascination with his “beautiful, bewitching Krakow,” but it does something else as well: he’s letting us know this is how he will talk about living under the Communist regime. He will not indulge in direct discussion about Communism. This is another aspect of postmodern memoir writing. Instead he will show the effects of it, how certain aspects of the city are perpetually gray, how he doesn’t have access to certain books and music, how certain people, like Professor U. seemed to thrive in it. “He was delighted with the historical moment that fate had granted him; it might seem that Communism had been dreamed up just for him.”
Memory, and how Zagajewski approaches it, is an interesting consideration in Another Beauty. The writer of a postmodern memoir approaches the work knowing that it’s not just a matter of recording what happened. As Patrick Madden discussed in his lecture, there is a filtering process, an attempt to understand the memory and what it means to rebuild it on the page. Zagajewski’s work is tricky because he is dealing with history and memory. Susan Sontag, who wrote an introduction to the book, says that “To recover a memory—to secure a truth—is a supreme touchstone of value in Another Beauty.” She then points out an example of Zagajewski’s approach. “I didn’t witness the extermination of the Jews,” he writes. “I was born too late. I bore witness, though, to the gradual process by which Europe recovered its memory. This memory moved slowly, more like a lazy, lowland river than a mountain stream, but it finally, unambiguously, condemned the evil of the Holocaust and the Nazis, and the evil of Soviet civilization as well (though in this it was less successful, as if reluctant to admit that two such monstrosities might simultaneously coexist).”
But Zagajewski knows it is possible for two or more monstrosities to exist at once. He also knows—and perhaps this is the philosopher working in him after all—the dialectic of having opposing forces, operating as a whole, to move society forward. He notes, “We’re not likely to outrun history, even if we try, even if we do come across those moments, common enough, that music especially but also poetry and painting sometimes provide, the moments that seem to free us from history’s orbit, that set us circling through a calmer, more congenial space. Such moments are completely valid, but we can’t stay there forever.” He does spend a lot of time, though, seeking out “wholeness,” the connecting fibers of what he sees and feels as he walks the city. It’s a fleeting feeling, one he believes sustains the place. “But sometimes, at odd moments, it seemed to me that I perceived the city’s unity, that I grasped it by means of a special sense, the sense of wholeness.”
I would add that these various aspects of the postmodern memoir helps the reader feel more connected to the author. Though Zagajewski is a learned poet from what, for most readers, is a foreign country, in Another Beauty he is a young man with concerns about his girlfriend, about studying, about having enough money for lunch, yet still recognizing beauty, as in the ringing of the bells, when it comes by his way. “The bells gave me a moment of happiness; thanks to them I understood once more that greatness exists in spite of my laziness, in spite of those long spells when I forgot all about it; it slipped my mind for weeks on end as I got lost in other projects, grew preoccupied by other cares and longings. The bells woke me to a higher life.”
Zagajewski is accessible even as he, with the sharp eye of the poet, describes his “beautiful, bewitching Krakow.” “What I found in its place was a city fixed in weary grimace, in the catatonic stupor of a patient in the psychiatric ward who awaits the end of the world while clad in his blue-striped pajamas.”
And this: “It was a city cluttered with the massive clods of churches and convents, broad and heavy like aging peasant women gathering potatoes on a rainy autumn day.”
Zagajewski may not have set out to write a memoir, but he did succeed in creating a postmodern expression serving as a window into an intriguing time. As we walk the streets with him, meet his professors and attend concerts with him, we see through his reflective eyes so clearly that we can come to understand that in this case hindsight is actually more than 20/20.
Early in the book Zagajewski establishes his humility as he describes his lukewarm approach to his work as a student. Humility, as Patrick Madden noted in his 2013 Vermont College of Fine Arts lecture on the postmodern memoir, is a feature of the postmodern memoir standing against the drama, exaggeration, and self-aggrandizement of the traditional memoir: “The more humble the writer is, the more likely he or she is to write in a more literary way, seeking out the universal in the details of one’s life.” Zagajewski paints himself as inattentive, mediocre, and more interested in poetry than his philosophy books.
“I never finished anything. I wasn’t a good student. Descartes lost patience, Aristotle looked askance. They already knew that this was no young philosopher poring for hours over the pages of their immortal tracts. It was only a poet, a dabbler who couldn’t refine a concept or elaborate new nuances in existing categories if his life depended on it.”
He gives the reader some grounding early in the book when he spends time describing the street he lives on, his shabby living quarters and the woman who owns the building, a Mrs. C who “was preoccupied with her historical mission, with the defense of her own social position, the defense of feudalism in a hostile Communist environment.” This establishes Zagajewski’s place and his fascination with his “beautiful, bewitching Krakow,” but it does something else as well: he’s letting us know this is how he will talk about living under the Communist regime. He will not indulge in direct discussion about Communism. This is another aspect of postmodern memoir writing. Instead he will show the effects of it, how certain aspects of the city are perpetually gray, how he doesn’t have access to certain books and music, how certain people, like Professor U. seemed to thrive in it. “He was delighted with the historical moment that fate had granted him; it might seem that Communism had been dreamed up just for him.”
Memory, and how Zagajewski approaches it, is an interesting consideration in Another Beauty. The writer of a postmodern memoir approaches the work knowing that it’s not just a matter of recording what happened. As Patrick Madden discussed in his lecture, there is a filtering process, an attempt to understand the memory and what it means to rebuild it on the page. Zagajewski’s work is tricky because he is dealing with history and memory. Susan Sontag, who wrote an introduction to the book, says that “To recover a memory—to secure a truth—is a supreme touchstone of value in Another Beauty.” She then points out an example of Zagajewski’s approach. “I didn’t witness the extermination of the Jews,” he writes. “I was born too late. I bore witness, though, to the gradual process by which Europe recovered its memory. This memory moved slowly, more like a lazy, lowland river than a mountain stream, but it finally, unambiguously, condemned the evil of the Holocaust and the Nazis, and the evil of Soviet civilization as well (though in this it was less successful, as if reluctant to admit that two such monstrosities might simultaneously coexist).”
But Zagajewski knows it is possible for two or more monstrosities to exist at once. He also knows—and perhaps this is the philosopher working in him after all—the dialectic of having opposing forces, operating as a whole, to move society forward. He notes, “We’re not likely to outrun history, even if we try, even if we do come across those moments, common enough, that music especially but also poetry and painting sometimes provide, the moments that seem to free us from history’s orbit, that set us circling through a calmer, more congenial space. Such moments are completely valid, but we can’t stay there forever.” He does spend a lot of time, though, seeking out “wholeness,” the connecting fibers of what he sees and feels as he walks the city. It’s a fleeting feeling, one he believes sustains the place. “But sometimes, at odd moments, it seemed to me that I perceived the city’s unity, that I grasped it by means of a special sense, the sense of wholeness.”
I would add that these various aspects of the postmodern memoir helps the reader feel more connected to the author. Though Zagajewski is a learned poet from what, for most readers, is a foreign country, in Another Beauty he is a young man with concerns about his girlfriend, about studying, about having enough money for lunch, yet still recognizing beauty, as in the ringing of the bells, when it comes by his way. “The bells gave me a moment of happiness; thanks to them I understood once more that greatness exists in spite of my laziness, in spite of those long spells when I forgot all about it; it slipped my mind for weeks on end as I got lost in other projects, grew preoccupied by other cares and longings. The bells woke me to a higher life.”
Zagajewski is accessible even as he, with the sharp eye of the poet, describes his “beautiful, bewitching Krakow.” “What I found in its place was a city fixed in weary grimace, in the catatonic stupor of a patient in the psychiatric ward who awaits the end of the world while clad in his blue-striped pajamas.”
And this: “It was a city cluttered with the massive clods of churches and convents, broad and heavy like aging peasant women gathering potatoes on a rainy autumn day.”
Zagajewski may not have set out to write a memoir, but he did succeed in creating a postmodern expression serving as a window into an intriguing time. As we walk the streets with him, meet his professors and attend concerts with him, we see through his reflective eyes so clearly that we can come to understand that in this case hindsight is actually more than 20/20.
March 6, 2022
„na stole leżała pomarańcza. z podwórka dochodziły krzyki i śmiechy dzieci. była czwarta po południu”
August 31, 2023
šis mani izsita no līdzsvara
grāmata vienam vakaram visam mūžam
grāmata vienam vakaram visam mūžam
April 15, 2020
Libro en prosa de un gran poeta. Este ensayo escrito en 1998 es muy difícil de definir: es una colección de recuerdos, de reflexiones, de atisbos poéticos, de lecturas, de viajes; un poco de todo eso, y mucho más. Si hay alguna línea más gruesa que el resto, esa sería la de los recuerdos de su estancia en Cracovia como estudiante y joven poeta durante los años sesenta y setenta con el trasfondo de la Polonia comunista. No es un libro para leer de corrido, sino para saborearlo frase a frase. El poeta Zagajeswki nos descubre en su deambular por Cracovia y Europa nuevas caras, a veces más luminosas, pero otras más oscuras, de la vida de todos los días. Léelo, te va a gustar.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
January 12, 2020
"Llegamos a conocer otras lenguas y países. Sentimos tanto la alegría como la amargura, momentos o épocas enteras de amargura, de desengaño. Todo cambia, despacio, día tras días, año tras año. Nos volvemos otros, verdaderamente otros. Y, sin embargo, en medio de esta lenta, permanente y suave catástrofe, no deja de asombrarnos al menos una sola cosa: la juventud que nunca nos abandona del todo."
September 9, 2017
Zagajewski recuerda la antigua Cracovia a través de sus memorias, y en ellas encontramos mucha poesía y aforismos. El ritmo narrativo es sereno y nostálgico como lo es la misma ciudad, Adam logra transmitir en palabras el ambiente de la ciudad polaca. Así, caminamos por el barrio judío, atestiguamos el nacimiento de un grupo literario, la sombra del comunismo y personajes de una ciudad a los que la historia no les dio boleto de regreso.
Sí hay que ponerle algún adejtivo a este libro sería "bello", y no tanto por la forma, sino por el fondo. La nostalgia no está peleada con la belleza ni la distancia con la empatía. Su poética reside en el día a día, en las personas que caminan sin renegar de su presente porque el peso de los días es más fuerte.
En este libro Zagajwski nos acerca a su Cracovia de una forma en que terminamos haciéndola nuestra porque en sus calles y páginas encontraremos puntos donde nuestros caminos se han cruzado.
Sí hay que ponerle algún adejtivo a este libro sería "bello", y no tanto por la forma, sino por el fondo. La nostalgia no está peleada con la belleza ni la distancia con la empatía. Su poética reside en el día a día, en las personas que caminan sin renegar de su presente porque el peso de los días es más fuerte.
En este libro Zagajwski nos acerca a su Cracovia de una forma en que terminamos haciéndola nuestra porque en sus calles y páginas encontraremos puntos donde nuestros caminos se han cruzado.
May 17, 2020
Que alguien me regale otro lápiz. No he parado de subrayar estas memorias. Cada página está llena de sabiduría. No hay un tono pedante ni didáctico en lo que cuenta el autor, todo se resumen a contar con sencillez la complejidad de las experiencias, casi como si un profesor lograra explicarme por fin qué es el álgebra. Llevo regalados cinco ejemplares.
June 17, 2008
Beautiful writing, but too disjointed to create a whole storyline. I got through about half before I gave up.
June 1, 2023
nezinaju ka tulkota dzeja var but tik loti loti laba
February 20, 2024
Adam Zagajewski’s poetic manifesto is a journey through Poland and the life of an artist. Considering Another Beauty is Zagajewski’s only memoir, I am very impressed. Being able to weave place writing, poetry, anecdotes, quotes, research and historical context, and so much conversational writing. This book is meant to not only educate the reader but also entertain and include the reader. This guy knows what he’s talking about. I trust him. Good writing knows no language barrier, and Adam Zagajewski and Clare Cavanaugh know this.
What an interesting memoir. My professor was right, it is very oddly structured. There are moments when reading this that I am just completely enveloped in the Zagajewski’s mind, and then other times I am like “Are you just trying to reach a word count here?” Don't get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoy this book, but its structure is unique in a way that reminds me of a Twitter feed: random anecdotes, quotes, and references only specific people will get/understand/relate to. My poor book... This poor, poor book is drowning in highlights and little sticky flags. The writing in certain parts is brilliant. I’m not sure if this is to credit the translator or Zagajewski, but either way, kudos to both.
Reading this feels like I am sitting down on a hardwood floor while Zagajewski, senile and smiling, is sitting in a wooden rocking chair, a blanket covering his lower body while telling me all these little tidbits about his life and the world around him as if time didn’t exactly exist. He writes in fluid moments, not time stamps. It’s frustrating at times, especially with it not being a linear structure, but he's just so charming and witty that you can't help but watch him rock in his little chair and listen. The way he introduces and then eventually discards characters is very alarming, but effective. People come and go and sometimes serve a very minimal purpose in the long-term recollection of our lives.
The structure of the book, though off-putting at first, is incredibly efficient and easy to follow. It’s a commitment not to know when to stop. It's a commitment to trust the writer not to exhaust us or lead us on the wrong path unintentionally. Another Beauty does not disappoint.
What an interesting memoir. My professor was right, it is very oddly structured. There are moments when reading this that I am just completely enveloped in the Zagajewski’s mind, and then other times I am like “Are you just trying to reach a word count here?” Don't get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoy this book, but its structure is unique in a way that reminds me of a Twitter feed: random anecdotes, quotes, and references only specific people will get/understand/relate to. My poor book... This poor, poor book is drowning in highlights and little sticky flags. The writing in certain parts is brilliant. I’m not sure if this is to credit the translator or Zagajewski, but either way, kudos to both.
Reading this feels like I am sitting down on a hardwood floor while Zagajewski, senile and smiling, is sitting in a wooden rocking chair, a blanket covering his lower body while telling me all these little tidbits about his life and the world around him as if time didn’t exactly exist. He writes in fluid moments, not time stamps. It’s frustrating at times, especially with it not being a linear structure, but he's just so charming and witty that you can't help but watch him rock in his little chair and listen. The way he introduces and then eventually discards characters is very alarming, but effective. People come and go and sometimes serve a very minimal purpose in the long-term recollection of our lives.
The structure of the book, though off-putting at first, is incredibly efficient and easy to follow. It’s a commitment not to know when to stop. It's a commitment to trust the writer not to exhaust us or lead us on the wrong path unintentionally. Another Beauty does not disappoint.
January 30, 2026
I should have underlined the entire book with my lilliputian pencil...
A writer who keeps a personal diary uses it to record what he knows. In his poems or stories he sets down what he doesn't know.
[...]
Moments of revelation are like boundary stones, separated by several hundred yards of no-man's-land. The poet experiences an epiphany in setting down the key line of his latest poem. But days, weeks, even months of shadow stretch between these moments of majestic clarity. And here the poet plays the historian's role, sharing not just his ecstatic humanity with his readers but his dull, dreary, doubting humanity as well.
[...]
[...] Goodnes does exist! Not just evil, stupidity, and Satan. Evil has more energy, and can act with the speed of lightning, like a blitzkrieg, whereas goodness likes to dawdle in the most peculiar fashion. This fatal disproportion leads to irreparable losses in many cases. [...]
But goodness returns, calm, unhurried, like those phlegmatic, elegantly dressed, pipe-smoking gentlemen detectives in old-fashioned mysteries, who appear upon the scene of the crime the day after it's been committed. It comes back slowly, as if it alone had no access to modern modes of transportation, no train, no car, plane, rocket, or even bicycle at its disposal. It returns, though deliberately as a pilgrim, inevitably as the dawn. Unfortunately, it comes back too slowly, as if it doesn't want to recall that we are tragically caught up in time, we have so little time. Goodness treats us as though we were immortal; it is itself immortal in a certain light, dry way, and it apparently ascribes the same quality to us, dismissing time and the body, our aging, our extinction. Goodness is better than we are.
July 27, 2017
Es un libro muy bien escrito, pero el autor presenta el relato biografico sobre su vida de estudiante en Cracovia, a traves de diferentes trazos que van variando segun avanza la historia, no tiene una linea temporal clara o una narracion de acontecimientos logica. Parece que escribe segun le vienen los hechos a la cabeza. Por todo ello, a mi personalmente me ha costado seguir la historia, y debido a esta forma de escribir en ningun momento senti interes por lo que contaba, si no todo lo contrario.
It is a book very well written really, but the author presents this autobiographical story about his years as a student in Cracow in detached different pieces that many times didn't have connection with the previous piece, so there is no a clear timeline and there is not a logical way to present the events either. For all these reasons I have not feel any sort of interest for the story, in fact, right the opposite.
It is a book very well written really, but the author presents this autobiographical story about his years as a student in Cracow in detached different pieces that many times didn't have connection with the previous piece, so there is no a clear timeline and there is not a logical way to present the events either. For all these reasons I have not feel any sort of interest for the story, in fact, right the opposite.
December 12, 2025
En todo totalitarismo la belleza será siempre ajena. Toda esta memoria, toda esta vida narrada, guarda un halo de quien ha vivido a contracorriente en busca de la belleza y la libertad.
La memoria será siempre el antídoto necesario para el retorno de cualquier horror. Por eso importa, por eso es necesario que se cuente, porque la memoria sin ser contada es solo olvido.
“El bien se comporta con nosotros cuál si fuésemos inmortales; él mismo es, en cierto sentido superficial y adusto, inmortal y, según parece, nos atribuye esa misma propiedad, desdeñando así el tiempo y la carne, nuestro envejecer y nuestra desaparición. El bien es mejor que nosotros”
La memoria será siempre el antídoto necesario para el retorno de cualquier horror. Por eso importa, por eso es necesario que se cuente, porque la memoria sin ser contada es solo olvido.
“El bien se comporta con nosotros cuál si fuésemos inmortales; él mismo es, en cierto sentido superficial y adusto, inmortal y, según parece, nos atribuye esa misma propiedad, desdeñando así el tiempo y la carne, nuestro envejecer y nuestra desaparición. El bien es mejor que nosotros”
November 9, 2020
Zagajewski’s poems are wonderful - so wonderful, it is easy to ignore the essays and collections of thoughts, but wow - are they marvelous. They shine brightly, gently. Aware of the harsh aspects of reality, but still celebrating the beauty and magic.
March 30, 2022
Es la esperanza en tiempos difíciles. Es encontrar belleza donde no parece haberla, buscarla en los rostros, la poesía, el bien. Es creer a pesar de la incredulidad y el cinismo generalizado.
Bellísimo diario de un alma esperanzada en tiempos oscuros.
Bellísimo diario de un alma esperanzada en tiempos oscuros.
February 11, 2023
“The Zeitgeist chisels our thoughts and mocks our dreams. I’m intrigued by all kinds of walls; the space we inhabit isn’t neutral, it shapes our existence. Landscapes enter our innermost being, they leave traces not just on our retinas but on the deepest strata of our personalities.”
August 8, 2023
šo grāmatiņu man vārdadienā uzdāvināja ēriks dekoneks ar vārdiem "šī ir vislabākā dzejas grāmata, kāda pastāv". es neticēju. tik lieli vārdi! tad es to izlasīju. tad es to izlasīju atkal. es neesmu beigusi to pārlasīt. tā ir mana visvismīļākā dzejas grāmata.
October 26, 2017
Una prosa preciosa y muy poética, que no es difícil de leer pero sí que se necesita cierta concentración para no perderse en los múltiples relatos que incluye el libro
July 10, 2018
Bellísimo libro
August 20, 2019
Gorgeous imagery.
February 15, 2021
¿Qué es un polaco deprimido? Un pleonasmo
March 4, 2023
Starp Bahu un Šostakoviču.
Pārlasu atkal un atkal.
Pārlasu atkal un atkal.
July 10, 2023
Šis burvīgais dzejoļu krājums no manis izvilka tās klusās un aizmirstās sajūtas, ko kādreiz tik spilgti pārdzīvoju. Interesanta sajūta, tiešām.
March 1, 2024
beautiful writing, but not that compelling due to its disjointed structure.
December 11, 2020
“Pero la defensa de la poesía no es la defensa de cierta profesión, de los libros, de las librerías, de los bibliófilos, de los lectores exaltados, de las veladas poéticas ante veinte personas; no es ni siquiera la defensa de los poetas, pues los poetas están tan lejos de la poesía como casi los juristas del derecho o los guías de montaña de las nubes. La defensa de la poesía es la defensa de algo que alienta en el hombre, la capacidad fundamental de experimentar el milagro del mundo, de descubrir la divinidad en el cosmos y en otro hombre, en una lagartija y las hojas de los castaños, de asombrarse y de quedar sumido durante un largo instante en este asombro. Si esta capacidad se marchita, la especie humana seguirá existiendo, pero empeorada, debilitada, de manera distinta a la que ha existido durante milenios, cuando no había civilización que no pusiera la poesía -en una u otra forma- en el centro mismo de los trabajos humanos.”
A medio camino entre el diario, el libro de memorias y la colección de aforismos, En la belleza ajena nos retrotrae a la Polonia soviética de los años 60, en que un joven estudiante de filosofía, aspirante a poeta, busca su lugar en la vida. Una suerte de Quijote del revés, como él mismo reconoce, que después de emborracharse en la biblioteca de la juventud leyendo a nihilistas como Nietzsche, Cioran, Baudelaire, Kafka,… descubre al salir al mundo que hay más luz de la que uno pudiera pensar.
En su mayor parte, es una enconada defensa de la poesía como ejercicio de un peculiar sentido de la maravilla ante la realidad, cercano a la experiencia de la religión. Poesía entendida en sentido amplio, como algo presente también en la música, en la filosofía… pero también en el día a día. Abundan curiosos retratos de diferentes personajes que se cruzan en la vida de Zagajewski: aristócratas defenestrados que se resisten a aceptar su nueva condición, profesores de filosofía que brillan en el recuerdo de sus alumnos, académicos resignados que se arrastran en la rutina, e incluso un joven sacerdote que acabaría siendo elegido Papa.
Uno de esos libros que te recuerdan lo valioso de la experiencia de la lectura, más allá del mero pasatiempo - muy recomendable.
A medio camino entre el diario, el libro de memorias y la colección de aforismos, En la belleza ajena nos retrotrae a la Polonia soviética de los años 60, en que un joven estudiante de filosofía, aspirante a poeta, busca su lugar en la vida. Una suerte de Quijote del revés, como él mismo reconoce, que después de emborracharse en la biblioteca de la juventud leyendo a nihilistas como Nietzsche, Cioran, Baudelaire, Kafka,… descubre al salir al mundo que hay más luz de la que uno pudiera pensar.
En su mayor parte, es una enconada defensa de la poesía como ejercicio de un peculiar sentido de la maravilla ante la realidad, cercano a la experiencia de la religión. Poesía entendida en sentido amplio, como algo presente también en la música, en la filosofía… pero también en el día a día. Abundan curiosos retratos de diferentes personajes que se cruzan en la vida de Zagajewski: aristócratas defenestrados que se resisten a aceptar su nueva condición, profesores de filosofía que brillan en el recuerdo de sus alumnos, académicos resignados que se arrastran en la rutina, e incluso un joven sacerdote que acabaría siendo elegido Papa.
Uno de esos libros que te recuerdan lo valioso de la experiencia de la lectura, más allá del mero pasatiempo - muy recomendable.
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