{"id":13963,"date":"2023-04-09T11:25:33","date_gmt":"2023-04-09T16:25:33","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.lavenderink.org\/site\/?post_type=product&p=13963"},"modified":"2023-05-30T14:59:20","modified_gmt":"2023-05-30T19:59:20","slug":"dear-beloved-humans","status":"publish","type":"product","link":"https:\/\/www.lavenderink.org\/site\/shop\/dear-beloved-humans\/","title":{"rendered":"Dear Beloved Humans"},"content":{"rendered":"

Grzegorz Wr\u00f3blewski<\/a><\/h1>\n

Translated by Piotr Gwiazda<\/a><\/h2>\n

Dear Beloved Humans<\/h3>\n

ISBN:978-1-956921-14-4\u00a0<\/span>(pbk.)<\/p>\n

(May, 2023) (Pre-order pricing through May 31.)\u00a0<\/p>\n

\n

Dear Beloved Humans<\/i> offers a representative selection of poems by Grzegorz Wr\u00f3blewski (b. 1962), a Polish writer and visual artist based for the last thirty-five years in Copenhagen. A third volume of Wr\u00f3blewski\u2019s poetry translated into English by Piotr Gwiazda, it shows its remarkable scope and variety, from the early 1980s poems, with their motifs of existential anxiety and radical estrangement, to those written in the last decade, with their satirical insights on nationalism and capitalism, among other topics. Above all Dear Beloved Humans<\/i> signals that Wr\u00f3blewski\u2019s work should be read as a dynamic whole. It crystallizes the nature of his lifelong project: an attempt to portray, through something theoretically as simple and unassuming as poetry, what it means to be alive at this moment in the planet\u2019s history. Incisive, uncompromising, yet also full of what Sharon Mesmer calls Wr\u00f3blewski\u2019s \u201cmelancholic hilarity,\u201d Dear Beloved Humans<\/i> is a document of our time and a not-so-hopeful message to our descendants.<\/p>\n

\n

\u00a0<\/h2>\n

Praise for Dear Beloved Humans and Grzegorz Wr\u00f3blewski<\/i><\/h2>\n

 <\/p>\n

In this book we find short brilliant grim verse tales\u2014such as the tale of Anne who lives inside her white dress, or that of the poet who is the only one (including former cosmonauts!) remaining unconverted. Poem by poem we move through an inexorably dark circle of life, where poems\u2019 speakers are in the process of disappearing faster and faster; where it feels like rain especially when it\u2019s not raining and the weather generally is sexless and gray, uninspiring; where decline is described somberly yet shouted IN ALL CAPS; where a tick chose to bite you because you wore the flannel shirt the poem\u2019s addressee had given as a birthday gift; where the gecko is perfect for loners. After a week of all this, the gecko poem informs us, \u201cyou\u2019ll become social again,\u201d but by then it will be marvelously too late. Grzegorz Wr\u00f3blewski is the great sweetly sardonic poet of such humane belatedness. \u00ad<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2014Al Filreis<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The amazingly compressed poems in Dear Beloved Humans<\/i> are constantly banging themselves against this world that makes no sense, but that most of us have nevertheless simply accepted, and Wr\u00f3blewski has taken on the poetic task of jarring us into a renewed apprehension of the world\u2019s terrible, hilarious absurdity. \u201cWhat took place a moment ago \/ no longer has any importance,\u201d he says \u2014 not when we\u2019re utterly surrounded by the horrors of history, hunger, aging, lust, and endless wars \u201cthey all\u201d lose \u201cbut claim \/ they won.\u201d Wr\u00f3blewski\u2019s pessimism is fantastic, entertaining, and timeless. I laughed out loud while reading this book, then got up from my chair feeling truly shaken.<\/p>\n

\u2014Wayne Miller<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Wr\u00f3blewski\u2019s writing is like the fleeting lines of Japanese painting, all about outline and suggestion rather than laborious, literal representation. We are not directed around these poems. There are no signposts, just space to move through. Like the people in \u201cThe Birds That Come Flying Today Off the Sea,\u201d we might find this space both familiar and unfamiliar: \u201cThe birds that come flying today off the sea \/ open their beaks in surprise \/ as if we had never been here before.\u201d This lightness of touch demands great skill. It is harder to say something in five words than fifty and it is the ability to do so that marks out poetry from prolixity, Basho from a blogger. Mark Twain once wrote to a friend: \u201cSorry for the long letter. I didn\u2019t have time to write a short one.\u201d Grzegorz Wr\u00f3blewski evidently did have time and he has used it well. These are bright, hard, jewel-like poems that glitter in the light, reflecting, refracting and returning it but never giving up their essential mysteries. These are poems to be held in the palm and turned over and over, to be read, re-read and savoured.<\/p>\n

\u2014Tom Jenks on Our Flying Objects<\/i><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A Marzipan Factory<\/i> is the most original and enticing book of poems I have read in years. It is Kafkaesque and yet tender, cynical and yet warm, elliptical and yet wholly immediate. Wr\u00f3blewski can take the most ordinary of phenomena and then give them the twist of a knife: to \u201cspare\u201d the life of a living organism \u2013 a \u201cdry\u201d tangerine for instance \u2013 is, from another angle, to forget it. The pleasures and terrors of sex, of age, of the fear of death, of the deceptions of our social life, have rarely been so brutally \u2013 yet wittily and charmingly \u2013 documented as they are in these short, often gnomic poems, surprisingly well rendered in Adam Zdrodowski\u2019s translation. Grzegorz Wr\u00f3blewski restores one\u2019s faith in the power of lyric poetry to renew itself.<\/p>\n

\u2014 Marjorie Perloff on Marzipan Factory<\/i><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Between classical lyricism and central European surrealism, between the punk aesthetic of Mark E. Smith and the existentialism of Camus, between the miniatures of Joseph Cornell and the stalker of Tarkovsky, between painting, plays, poetry, performance art, and the memoir, between Poland and Denmark and the Milky Way, Grzegorz Wr\u00f3blewski is on the mainland. His work is the most distinct and diverse coming out of the so-called \u201cbruLion generation\u201d always moving into the major leagues of this universe and perhaps others. If we don\u2019t become extinct as a species in the near future, Wr\u00f3blewski will go down as one of our greatest writers, artists, and thinkers.<\/p>\n

\u2014Marcus Slease on Let\u2019s Go Back to the Mainland<\/i><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Alien to Joycean effulgence, Kopenhaga<\/i> is nonetheless a book of silence, exile, and cunning: silence instead of moralizing in the face of modernity\u2019s indignities; exile from native land and language; cunning in cajoling these conditions to sing a new song, one lacking in all jubilation, still somehow victorious in the absolute character of defeat. Grim, glancingly beautiful, always necessary.<\/p>\n

\u2014Joshua Clover on Kopenhaga<\/i><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Kopenhaga<\/i> is the study of a place into which we are all thrown as strangers, \u201can enclosed compound for the paranoid,\u201d in which we all live a public and familiar life with whomever we find. This is a book about a changing Denmark, one none of us can leave \u2013 nor should we wish to, because place, as Wr\u00f3blewski has it, \u201cis the most important thing in the world.\u201d And with this, Wr\u00f3blewski has written one of the most important books of our time: these are at once unsettling and comforting, timely and wryly moving poems about the laughable annoyances, limited joys, and the never fully present sorrows of cosmopolitanism, the life of the citizens of the world. Gwiazda has rendered this study in a language full of \u201cwater and shouting and whalers.\u201d I can think at the moment of no better book for you to read in this our immense and always new Copenhagen.<\/p>\n

\u2014Gabriel Gudding on Kopenhaga<\/i><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The poet Grzegorz Wr\u00f3blewski was born in Poland, lives in Copenhagen, and is perhaps best known in English translation, as here in the marvelous versions by Piotr Gwiazda. A familiar figure everywhere, yet at home nowhere, Wr\u00f3blewski is the true poetic chronicler of our 21st century diaspora in all its absurdities and anxieties. Kopenhaga<\/i>, his book of aphoristic prose poems, <\/i>pulls out all the rhetorical stops to present us with a relentless, sardonic, and hilarious picture of a culture (at once highly particular and yet anyculture) as insane as it is public-spirited and kindly. \u201cWhat terrifies me in Denmark,\u201d our narrator remarks, \u201c(the land of Bohr and Kierkegaard, a caring and tolerant state with a high standard of living, etc.) . . . is homo sapiens.<\/i>\u201d Kopenhaga <\/i>is a journey to the end of the night that always makes a U-turn in the middle, to take in the latest folly \u2013 and also self-rescue mission \u2013 of the transplant. Read it and weep \u2013 and then laugh!<\/p>\n

\u2014Marjorie Perloff on Kopenhaga<\/i><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

This brilliant collection offers an elegantly translated Vergil for the conditions of zero visibility that seem inevitable as we try to make sense of the diverse threads constituting our lives. Disjunction for Wr\u00f3blewski is the new condition for conjunction. It elicits \u201cenhanced interrogation techniques\u201d because the lyric imagination seems at first grossly overmatched in its struggles to make sense of the pressures of reality. But the poems ask if we have been looking for conjunction in the wrong place, in how we produce names for the real rather than how our tones of voice and sheer desperation about making sense can be deployed in poetry to define a hope nowhere in evidence except in how we play on our ways of staging what is \u201cunbearable\u201d about life. Wr\u00f3blewski does this with remarkably complex humor that is bracingly dry and intricately satisfying. \u201cSigns\u201d offers a condensed example: \u201cA dead crab and white seagulls. \/ Everything balances out perfectly. \/ My future is a mystery.\u201d This poem moves from signs in the form of images to signs as an optimistic figure of the relation of life to death to the individual speaker\u2019s sheer puzzlement about how he fits in either world \u2013 the one pictured and the one evoked in his wistfully optimistic language effectively disjoining attention from interpretation.<\/p>\n

\u2014Charles Altieri on Zero Visibility<\/i><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Prolonged nudity as an enhanced interrogation technique. The Juice Probe that looks for life on one of Jupiter\u2019s moons. A wish to be reincarnated as a crab. The memory of something velvety. This is the realm of melancholic hilarity that Grzegorz Wr\u00f3blewski\u2019s Zero Visibility<\/i> occupies: at moments hallucinatory, at other moments rooted in hard reality. Found language is collaged with the imaginative workings of a brilliant mind, and the result is revelation, both funny and tragic. \u201cHow strange to be back \/ on this planet.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2014Sharon Mesmer on Zero Visibility<\/i><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Wr\u00f3blewski considers each living being to be a separate cosmos, but all are residents of a community called Shanty Town, positioned at the edge of the world &, because of the contiguity, therefore the edge of space as well. In Shanty Town<\/i> he is our singular & collective voice, a man who \u201cwants to leave a message to the future inhabitants of Earth.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2014Mark Young on Shanty Town<\/i><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Grzegorz Wr\u00f3blewski
\n9781956921144
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