Danuta Kosk-Kosicka is a Polish-born biochemist, bilingual poet, writer, poem translator, and co-editor of the Loch Raven Review. In her book, Meadows of Memory, she tells a compelling story composed of translations of her mother’s beautiful poetry from Polish to English.
Q: From reading your bio on your website, it seems like you have been writing poetry for a long time. When did you first discover an interest in poetry?
A: My mother wrote poems as far back as I can remember. She even wrote poems for my school events. In the Poland of my childhood school curriculum included lots of poets, especially the Romantics such as the greatest Polish poet, Adam Mickiewicz, a contemporary of Lord Byron. We learned poems by heart, as school assignments, and for the assemblies and the performances that we, students, put together. I can still recite many of the poems I learned by heart back then. I was suffused with poetry. Poetry was part of my life, a natural environment.
Q: What sparked that interest in writing poetry?
A: It was a natural thing. As a teenager I wrote poems, and I believed that everybody did. That was in Poland, where I was born and educated.
I came to the USA on a two-year postdoctoral fellowship from the Muscular Dystrophy Association, right after receiving my PhD in Biochemistry from the Polish Academy of Sciences. The imposition of martial law in my motherland on December 13, 1981, was the reason that I settled permanently in the USA. At one point I started writing poems in English. From the back of the recycled pages of drafts of my biochemistry and biophysics manuscripts I was preparing for publication, they—gradually, slowly—earned their own sheets of paper.
I write and translate poems in both English and Polish. I have translated into English over one hundred poems, by Lidia Kosk, as well as Grzegorz Białkowski, Ernest Bryll, and Wisława Szymborska. I also translate from English into Polish, including the work of three Maryland Poets Laureate: Josephine Jacobsen, Lucille Clifton, and Linda Pastan.
The process of turning to writing poems in English, and to translating poetry, was fascinating for me. I have described it at length in the essay “Turning to Poetry,” in my book Face Half-Illuminated, published by Apprentice House Press in 2015:danutakk.wordpress.com/face-half-illuminated/
Q: Your website mentions that you are also a photographer. Is there a connection between your poetry and your photography?
A: I’m quite involved in artistic photography. I have had several solo and group shows. My photographs have been used for book and journal covers, and have been published in literary and art journals: https://danutakk.wordpress.com/art-samples/.
I see a strong connection between my poems and my photography: the same sensitivity, attraction to light and shadows, colors. In my eyes, my photographs are poems, just expressed in a different medium. The same was also true of my attempts at acrylic painting some years ago.
Q: You were born and raised in Poland but have lived in Baltimore for over 30 years. Is there a difference in poetry between the two countries?
A: Polish and English are two quite distinct languages, with fundamental differences of grammar and syntax. The poetic canon is also substantially different. The two countries, Poland and the USA, differ very much in respect to their culture and history. All of the above affect the way of writing poetry and the role of the poet in society. Poetry there is not as introspective as American poetry. Poetry in Poland has played a more political role.
Q: How has your writing changed/matured/developed over the years?
A: In response to this question, here’s an example regarding “Feathered Serpent” published by driftwood press 2.2 (2015): https://danutakk.wordpress.com/252-2/.
My journey to northern Mexico in 1997 resulted in a series of poems, most of them dedicated to particular places there, including Tepotzotlan, Morelia, Toluca, Salamanca, San Luis Potosi, and Lake Patzcuaro. The poem “Feathered Serpent,” when originally written, comprised five stanzas. At some point, my writing style changed, and shorter began to feel better. From 38 lines, the poem shrank to seven couplets. The return trip from Mexico had been intense: I was filled with the emotions brought on by what I had seen and heard, the Feathered Serpent myth, the story about somebody’s friend (whom I call Harry) strangled by an anaconda. Starting with a long, pre-dawn, hazy wait at a small airport in Leon (this part didn’t make it into the poem), then the dreadful empty train at Dallas-Fort Worth, transferring me from the Mexican to the American leg of my trip, to the noise of the crowded Boeing—all real and yet unreal after the majesty and mystery of my dreamed-of pyramids, visited just a day before. So close, yet so far—across both time and space.
Q: You have written or translated several poetry books in the past. What is different/unique and/or similar about Meadows of Memory?
A: Meadows of Memory comprises my English renditions of poems and prose by Lidia Kosk. Up until now, I’ve translated only Lidia’s poetry. So, in this respect, it’s a first for me. This book is unique in that it combines prose and poetry under the same covers. I conceived the book as a myth-infused, multi-layered collection that follows the life journey of one girl. It’s like a puzzle, consisting of pieces written by that girl, Lidia. Some pieces have been written in prose, some in verse, some are missing. The puzzle is not complete and leaves room for the reader’s imagination to fill. I have been blessed with the opportunity to select both poems and the short stories Lidia has written over the years. I was inspired by Lidia’s new and unpublished poems, which lured me to embark on this new journey.
Q: No two poets think/write alike. Can you describe your typical poem-writing process?
A: In my case, choosing the language in which the poem wants to be written, English or Polish, is crucial and probably quite a unique poem-writing experience. That’s why years ago I turned to painting the poems that couldn’t make up their minds in what language they wanted to come out. These days I write mostly in English, though I may suddenly switch to Polish and then back to English. A poem comes whenever it comes, and it’s crucial to acknowledge and honor its appearance by writing it down right away. Put everything else aside and concentrate on the poem. If I postpone, believing that it will wait, the poem may be lost. Sometimes jotting down a few notes helps to preserve the idea, with just a few important phrases. Ideally, I need a few days away from the daily chatter, i.e. computer, phone, news, my “to do” list, etc., to get into the spirit of poems waiting to be written.
Q: As an experienced writer, what advice would you give to aspiring poets?
A: Set aside time for writing. Keep to the schedule, even if you don’t feel the urgency to write, or are pressed to do other things. Focus, meditate, whatever helps you to get away from the daily pressures. Practice makes perfect. Think of the pianists practicing every day for hours. Revise, revise. Very seldom is a poem born perfect.
Revise, revise. Very seldom is a poem born perfect.
Q: Can you say a little bit about the relationship with your mother?
A: My extraordinary mother Lidia Kosk—poet, writer, educator, humanitarian, lawyer, photographer, etc, etc—wears many hats. At 91, she is still writing, leading literature workshops, directing and performing in the Poets’ Theater (ATP), as well as actively advocating on behalf of senior citizens. I’m fascinated by Lidia Kosk, her biography, and her literary oeuvre. My adventure in rendering her poems into English dates back to 1997, when “From Nowhere to Nowhere,” my first translation of her work, appeared in the literary journal Passager.
When my mother suggested that I try my hand at translating one of her poems, I was at a difficult point in my life. I took the plunge. When the translation was published soon thereafter in a literary journal in the USA, I was hooked. One by one, I went on translating enough poems I’ve selected from her several books to fill a bilingual poetry collection that was published in 1997 under the title niedosyt/reshapings. In her introduction to the book, Regina Grol, Professor of Comparative Literature at Empire State College, State University of New York, writes, “The volume introduces the English-speaking world to the work of a noteworthy Polish author who writes insightful poems, who presents her emotional states with subtlety, and who ceaselessly probes reality with words, creating original and compelling pictures. Danuta E. Kosk-Kosicka, who has selected and translated the poems included in this volume, has done poetry lovers on both sides of the Atlantic a great service.” More at: danutakk.wordpress.com/niedosytreshapings.
It was an uplifting experience that gave me a new sense of direction. When my father died in 2002, I suggested to my mom that we work on another bilingual collection. Thus, I helped her (and myself) to assuage the grief.
In 2003, she came to the USA for a book tour, and we did several readings in venues including Maryland colleges, bookstores, the Enoch Pratt Free Library, and the Polish Embassy in Washington, DC. We also gave interviews for newspapers and Polish radio in New York. For me it was a great reward, as a poet, a translator, and a daughter—to share the stage, the language, the acknowledgements/recognition, to share with mom the happiness [and pride] of our creative and personal achievements and togetherness.
In 2012, for Mother’s Day, the National Public Radio station WYPR’s The Signal broadcast a program featuring the two of us—with me in the studio in Baltimore, Lidia in her Warsaw apartment! The interviewer Aaron Henkin started by saying: A daughter’s love and the art of translation–bilingual poet Danuta E. Kosk-Kosicka has lived in Maryland for 30 years, but her mother, poet Lidia Kosk, still lives in their home-country of Poland. Danuta has lovingly translated her mother’s Polish verse into English, and both mother and daughter join us to share their special bond and their poetry: http://programs.wypr.org/podcast/love-and-art-translation-2012
“Two generations of wisdom bridging two continents! A rare and precious mother-daughter collaboration. Well done!,” was one of the reader comments that we cherished together.
While translating, I read the poems many times and discovered quite a number of hidden messages. Then, when Słodka Woda, Słona Woda/Sweet Water, Salt Water was being translated into Japanese on the basis of my English translations, one of the co-translators, Izumi Nakamura, kept sending me questions regarding the text. I would discuss her questions with Lidia over Skype, again learning more about my mother.
I wish that everybody could be so fortunate to have such parents as mine. Their lives weren’t easy. As was typical of her generation, Lidia Kosk came of age during World War II and survived first the Nazi occupation of Poland, and then the Stalinist regime imposed on Poland by the Soviet Union. Her poetry bears witness to history and is, at the same time, an affirmation of life.
“Even before the war, she had to work hard on the family farm. Since there were five daughters in the family and no surviving sons—her only brother died when she was five—she had to shoulder more than her share of the load, taking care of horses and standing behind a plow. “I was the boy,” she says, smiling. Growing up, she was convinced that a different life awaited her, the life she would create herself through hard work and studies. She knew all along that she would get a university degree. Everything that surrounded her, no matter how difficult and unpleasant, was only a bump on the road, an obstacle she had to overcome, and so she overcame those obstacles. Lidia hopes that readers will find something in her poetry that will make their lives easier, to give them a boost. “Happiness is inherently in us—you just have to wake it up. There are different ways of making this happiness. Poetry is one way to bring it out. I would like to help people in this way.” (from the interview conducted for the LITE by its editor, David Kriebel, 2007,with me serving as the translator).
To mark Lidia’s 90th birthday, I arranged the publication of Szklana góra/Glass Mountain, a book comprising renditions of her poem “Szklana góra” in twenty-two languages, ranging from Arabic to Italian to Occitan to Russian, as well as to works of visual art, and guitar and choral adaptations. The translators, hailing from several countries on three continents, were thrilled by the poem. Lidia brought us all together to celebrate the power of poetry and connectedness throughout the world. Poetry has linked us on an emotional plane, and that bond took physical form in the pages of the book.
Q: Can you describe what it is like translating poetry to English?
A: When I translate a poem, I begin with a literal translation. After a long process, I produce a poem that exists in the new language as a work of art in its own right. As an American of Polish origin, I am also attuned to the culture, history, and literature of both languages and countries, including translation practice. I take into account a poem’s structure, rhythm, keywords, and special effects—its layers of meaning, diction, the mood created, and the idiomatic phrases with double meanings that lack counterparts in the other language. I stay close to the poet’s punctuation. I work in increments—getting closer and closer to the ultimate poem in English. I will return again and again to the translations.
Translating poetry is both a creative process and detective work of sorts. It’s always a learning experience. It struck a chord when I heard that the Swedish translator of Szymborska’s work, Anders Bodegård, had said that he would not even attempt translating some of her poems, as the play on words could not be translated into his language.
In the course of studying various approaches to translating poetry, I have become more aware of linguistic and poetic traps and the choices to be made. For example, is it better to be a literal or a liberal translator? I have discovered that some translators don’t know the language from which they translate. Apparently, they get a rough translation from someone else, or rely on a translation into another language they know; then, they exercise the poet’s magic to create a poem in English. Or, they rely on some earlier renditions into English to work out their own. The other extreme might be a word-for-word translation. But what if a word has two, or even more, meanings? What if this creation in the new language has the same meaning but a different structure, rhythm, and sound? What if it has lost its inherent magic?
The greatest rewards for me personally, both as a translator and a poet, were the bilingual readings where the poet read her original verses in Polish, and I presented their English renditions. And to top it all—the poet was my mother. The audiences, many of them bilingual, were thrilled to discover that the same poem could be comparably poetic and powerful in another language.
