‘Reading’ Great Paintings

LitSalon regulars know how meaningful it can be to discuss great works of literature. By engaging with the texts and hearing the thoughts of fellow readers, we can gain a deeper understanding of writers such as Joyce, Proust, Shakespeare — and of ourselves. Recently I have been working with the London LitSalon to develop new studies that will help participants enjoy similar experiences with great art and learn to ‘read’ paintings more deeply.

My name is Sean Forester. I am a classically trained oil painter who studied at the Florence Academy of Art, and I also studied literature at Cambridge after graduating from the Great Books program at St. John’s College in the United States. Currently based near San Francisco, I travel to Europe regularly and, as a new LitSalon facilitator, my aim is to invite you to join me in exploring the language of art: composition, colour, symbolism, visual narrative and more, as well as considering the cultural context in which artworks were created. Together we will look closely at paintings by artists such as Van Eyck, Titian, Rembrandt and Monet, and consider the question: How do the artist’s techniques impact the ideas in the artwork and the emotions we feel?

Unfortunately, my first LitSalon Study: Reading Great Paintings, due to take place in-person at London’s National Gallery in April, did not run entirely according to plan. When I developed Covid on arriving in London from Italy, we tried postponing by a week, but Covid persisted and eventually we had to move the study online using Zoom.

As a group, we looked at paintings ranging in style and period from Van Eyck’s The Arnolfini Portrait to Monet’s Water Lilies, via works including Titian’s Bacchus and Ariadne and Rembrandt’s Woman Bathing in a Stream. Zoom provided a different experience from the one originally envisaged, but we received positive feedback from those who were able to make the revised date. Anyone who wasn’t part of the event can get a flavour of the study from this link: https://padlet.com/k5jyty77dd/london-literary-salon-at-the-national-gallery-kd8d1jgsmy4w0274.

The Arnolfini Portrait, Jan van Eyck, National Gallery

In The Arnolfini Portrait Van Eyck used a wood panel, a tempera underpainting and many thin layers of glazing in oil paint with tiny brushes. The painting has a perfect central balance, with the figures and the objects balanced across a vertical centre line. Van Eyck painted with astonishing precision, portraying carefully selected details that were likely intended to be significant, even symbolic, opening the work to a variety of interpretation. As one of the first genre paintings in the history of Western art, I feel The Arnolfini Portrait was highly influential on later artists such as Vermeer.

Bacchus and Ariadne, Titian, National Gallery

Bacchus and Ariadne is a dynamic painting, a feast for the senses. Titian used almost every colour available to him in 16th-century Venice. The composition is not centrally balanced like the Van Eyck, but rather uses an off-centre “steelyard balance” (as explained by H. R. Poore in his book Pictorial Composition). We can observe how all the warm colours are on the right side of the painting (except for the red sash on Ariadne), while all the cool colours are on the left (except for blue robe on the woman playing the cymbals). The way the story from Ovid is depicted is interesting: the meeting of Bacchus and Ariadne is shown by their eyes meeting across empty space, reinforced by strong diagonal lines. The tiny ship on the ocean horizon alludes to Theseus’ abandonment of Ariadne, while the circle of stars in the sky alludes to the metamorphosis she will experience after joining with the god Bacchus.

An Elderly Man as Saint Paul, Rembrandt, National Gallery

In his later work, such as Woman Bathing in a Stream and An Elderly Man as St. Paul, Rembrandt’s painting techniques are essentially the opposite of Van Eyck’s. He worked on canvas instead of wood, painted with thick impasto paint and used large brushes. In comparing Rembrandt with Van Eyck we can ask, “How does technique make possible (and also limit) their artistic vision? How does it impact what we feel when we look at their paintings?”

Water Lilies at Sunset, Monet, National Gallery

Finally, we can move forward to the nineteenth century to look at paintings by Claude Monet, the master of French Impressionism. Around 1800, tube paints became available and modern chemistry created many more colours. Artists such as Corot begin to paint en plein air. Monet embraced this, spending most of his time outdoors painting scenes in different weather and lighting conditions. In doing so, he created some striking innovations. He realised that shadows are not brown, but full of colour — purple, blue, red — he also realised that a white shirt is not simply white, that white has colours such as yellow, pink, blue and green, within it. At this time, colour theory began to be developed and Monet embraced that too, using complements and split-complements in his paintings. He also used broken, layered brush work to a greater degree than any artist before him, employing these techniques to explore all the ways a painter can see and feel about the landscape. Rather than traditional subject matter, he explored the play of colour and light and the movement between realism, impression and abstraction. In Snow Scene at Argenteuil we can see the different colours in snow and Monet’s use of a blue-orange complementary colour scheme. In Water Lilies and Water Lilies at Sunset, we see a complex use of complementary pairs (blue/orange, red/green, yellow/purple) as Monet explores the visual impressions created by lilies, surface water, deep water, and reflections.

Looking closely at colour, composition and painting technique provides a strong foundation for exploring our ideas and emotions about a given artwork. Clearly Rembrandt is a great artist because of the depth of his vision — he seems to see into the human heart — as well as his technical skill. This is where group discussions can be so rewarding, as people share their ideas and emotional responses, and I look forward to having more opportunities to explore this with members of the LitSalon – in-person and online – in the future.

Letter from Athens

Photo by Ayo Ogunseinde on Unsplash

Snow was falling when I arrived in Athens, which will be my home for the next two years. The hills around the city stayed white for a whole week, making the trees loaded with oranges which line every street seem even more magical. The move has been complicated and much delayed, necessitating a break from the LitSalon. It’s by very happy coincidence that my first new study will be on the island of Agistri, to read the Odyssey and The Oresteia, with lots of familiar faces (and some new) joining me in my new home.    

In the meantime, I am enjoying Athens’ incomparable museums before the onslaught of summer visitors.  Museums, like literature, have always captivated me – just as words help us to make sense of the past, objects can do something similar, bringing us a closer connection to history.  

For a lover of the Homeric legends, the National Archeological Museum is the highlight of an Athens visit. The first two rooms house the contents of the graves from the palace at Mycenae, including the famous gold ‘Mask of Agamemnon’. Here are the hauls of treasure that Odysseus kept acquiring and losing, which Homer described so meticulously even though, a hundred lines later, they would end up at the bottom of the sea. They are gleaming inside their glass cases, seemingly ready to be loaded on to a ship.  

There are gold drinking vessels, tripods and bowls for mixing wine, all of them splendidly decorated. Objects made to be desirable as well as useful. Real hands lifted these cups, or wound the strands of gold beads around their necks and admired themselves in mirrors shaped like lotus flowers. Everything is rich with detail, even the smallest objects contain secret worlds. The blade of a knife is inlaid with a picture of a striped cat stalking water birds, a large gold signet ring shows a masted ship with full crew and two couples hailing it from the shore. Although so much of the Odyssey is fantastical, a myth, the people that Homer sang about never seem more real, or more like us, than when looking at the treasures they collected in life, and brought with them on their journeys to the afterlife.  

When the weather turned sunny and warmer a few weeks after we arrived, we spent Saturday on Aegina, an island familiar from last year’s study – the whole group made a day trip to see the temple there. The tables and chairs where we had a long, lingering lunch were all packed away for the winter, but the museum was open. Everywhere in Greece has museums, and even the tiniest are full of treasures. One of my favourite objects is here, a terracotta jug from the 6th century BC showing Odysseus and his companions escaping form the cave of Polyphemus.  I like it even more because, compared to some of the other objects on display, it’s not particularly well made: the painting is pretty crude, cartoonish. It is probably best described as fan merchandise – somebody bought it because they thought the Odyssey was really, really cool.  I feel the same way!

This time in Athens has given the Odyssey and Oresteia such a fresh new context, and has already increased my anticipation of sharing the joy of reading them when the study starts.

See you in the pages!

Thoughts on the ‘Slow-Read’ experience

Photo by Nareeta Martin on Unsplash

My mother frequently told me that I lacked patience. As in, utterly and completely, almost like I was missing an internal organ. I turned the criticism into a kind of badge – of course I had no patience, but look at how much I can do all at once! Frantic movement as a superpower . . .

But high speed has its issues and one of the gifts of passing years is more time for thinking – and re-thinking. So, when Salon facilitator Mark Cwik first named and developed the ‘Slow Reading’ practice, I was intrigued but not quite certain this was my style. 

And then came Finnegans Wake.

I had resisted the Wake knowing that it is considered by many to be unreadable, but since a few honoured Salonistas kept nudging – even (Rachel) putting an excerpted book of Shem and Shaun in my hands – well I thought, what the hell: I have spent enough time with James Joyce and really, how long can I avoid the Wake? We began in 2017 and some iteration of the Wake group continues to trip through its ‘appatently ambrosiaurealised’ pages, seeking earwigger references and disappearing down the most unexpected rabbit holes – sometimes intoxicating, sometimes infuriating, but always opening up my understanding of the underlying structures of human history and identity. We read 3-5 pages a week. Some of the group have managed an entire read of the book already and we are re-Cycling-Vico-like through. And always learning.

Thus the Wake work led me to consider other Slow Read possibilities – and Ulysses was the obvious next choice. Although new readers may at first baulk at the six-month study, once they are rolling in the Bloomian pages, most chime in that we need MORE time! But once through a first read – once the arc of the book is in your mind – you are ready for a more thoughtful approach, where we can really discuss each paragraph with attention. 

In the Slow-Read Ulysses that started in September 2022, we have wonderful readers from all over the world, contributing expertise on philosophy, Jewish traditions and scholarship, psychological theories, economics, gender relationships, music, Irish history, aesthetics, narrative form, medical practices, modernism . . . we are truly eating with relish.

This week’s discussion of six pages, for example, included reflections on the Language of Flowers; desire as articulated in masochism; the Mary/Martha story from the Gospels of Luke and John, and how these are reflected in our Martha and Mary (Molly) characters; the use of the colour yellow to signal treachery; the figuration of Black people in missionary narratives; Marxism; Matzoh; what motivates people to turn to faith; relationship between colonial and religious projects; the geography of interior thoughts; the narcotic quality of sexual fantasies; pious frauds (echoing Pope Pius X); the relief of Sophocles on no longer being driven by lust . . .

The Ulysses Slow Read – like the Wake – is not a three or five year commitment. Rather, it invites participants to dip in and out as their lives allow and interests demand. Anyone who has previously read Ulysses can dive in to a 6-8 week series of study sessions (as long as there is space) and pick up the thread wherever we are. Each week, about half the participants adopt a particular passage and present this to the group with their own research or reflections. 

After years of reading and teaching Ulysses, I am so thankful for this practice of reading slowly and thoroughly. I am discovering gems that I have previously skipped over, and finding correspondences that I only now realise. The Slow Read also gives me time to explore more thoroughly the secondary literature, especially useful as there was a tremendous flowering of new work to coincide with the centenary celebration of the book in 2022. 

I would not say I have yet learned patience, but my mother would be surprised at my increasing ability to cultivate it. I have a practice – in both the Wake and Ulysses Slow Read sessions – that builds my capacity for attention and (the reward of exercising patience?) complexity. And I have learned so much: my sense of wonder expands with each dive into the realms of art, history, human nature, and the weird and beautiful intricacy of the human mind. 

Little Women: dreadful title, wonderful book?

Anne Boyd Rioux

I recently had to confess to our new facilitator, Anne Boyd Rioux, author of the highly acclaimed Meg, Jo, Beth, Amy: The Story of Little Women and Why it Still Matters, that I have never really warmed to Little Women. This is in spite of its strong credentials as the archetypal feminist fiction and a book that has inspired countless women – many of them (including luminaries such as Simone de Beauvoir, Patti Smith, Coretta Scott King and Zadie Smith) celebrated for their talents and tenacity – to emulate the character of Jo March in forging their own brilliant careers.

On reflection I wonder to what extent my feelings are based on an instinctive distaste for the title (even as a child I thought it demeaning) and that of its sequel Good Wives. Anne patiently explained to me that in the US Little Women was first published in two volumes, the first in 1868 followed by Little Women Part Two in 1869, soon thereafter becoming a single book following its huge success. However, here in the UK (and the rest of the English-speaking world), the publishers – rather than the author – persisted in maintaining two volumes: Little Women and Good Wives.

Further confusion was caused in 1880 when the US publisher produced a new edition in which much of the language of the original text was ‘improved’ by, for example, amending the March girls’ use of the “ain’t” to “am – or is, or are – not”, in the process robbing the original prose of its vitality! For this reason Anne urges readers to seek out the original text and recommends the Penguin Classics Deluxe Edition (ISBN: 978-0143106654).

All of the above (further encouraged by this New Yorker article) has led me to the conclusion that I should re-read Little Women (in its original form) with an open mind and, if my schedule allows it, join her Reading Little Women study starting on 29 March!

Odyssean dreams

As we begin to prepare for our next visit to the Greek island of Agistri for another week reading Homer’s Odyssey (28 April – 5 May 2023) here are a few reflections on our past experiences.

Jane, Caroline and I have now run two Odyssey retreats at Rosy’s Little Village on the island of Agistri in the Saronic Gulf near Athens. Each of these journeys has been personally and collectively deeply fulfilling. It is such a beautiful indulgence to spend a week fully immersed in an epic that – however much I may think I know of the narrative – surprises me on every reading with what it reveals about human nature, the deep past, our present relationships, the encounter with the stranger . . .

That quality of immersion, away from loud and full regular life, allows the mind to expand in unexpected ways. And then there is the space itself: Rosy and family have a created a unique environment, full of natural beauty and views over the crystalline waters, which feeds the imaginative realm. This is not to forget the wonderful feeding of the body, the food at Rosy’s is deliciously fresh and thoughtfully created. 

We have devised a schedule that combines the rigour of study with time to reflect and enjoy the place itself. Caroline’s guidance through contemporary poetic interpretations of the Odyssey is often cited as a favourite part of our week together, as is Jane’s generous sharing of her talent and passion for enacting the text: the words come alive as each participant has the opportunity to prepare a passage with her expert coaching and support. Without giving too much away, Jane and Caroline have activities and sessions planned that open us all up to each other and to the themes and language of the text. 

Every journey through the Odyssey in Agistri feels almost dreamlike as we experience the beauty of the place and the depths we are able to discover in our work together. And then there is the swimming, the sunshine, the company . . .

Many of last year’s participants are returning to Agistri with us to enjoy reading Aeschylus’s Oresteia (which is fully booked) and here are some of their comments on the Odyssey experience:

“It was a wonderful trip . . . the landscape, especially around the islands, is so seductive that you can see how these wonderful texts were written.”
 
“I loved the discussions around the text and getting to know a fascinating group of people.”
 
“It was an amazing and enriching experience.”

The Odyssey group on Agistri in 2022

There are still some places available on this year’s Odyssey trip if you would like to join us for this special offering!

Away from it all . . .

Photo by Mauricio Muñoz on Unsplash

Even though days are getting longer, mornings lighter and sunsets later, February can be a grind. As we await the arrival of Spring we’re looking forward to getting away from it all in the coming months, so here’s a reminder that this year we have more opportunities to read great literature in evocative locations than we’ve ever offered before.

Some of our travel studies – Jacob’s Room on the Sussex Downs, The Oresteia in Greece, ‘Reading the Body’ in Umbria – are already fully booked, but there are still a few places left to read Homer’s Odyssey on the gorgeous Greek island of Agistri, and Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse and Between the Acts in St Ives.

Some feedback from participants in previous travel studies gives an idea of what to expect:

The Odyssey on the island of Agistri, April/May 2022

“Discussing Homer whilst gazing out at the Aegean . . . heaven!”

“Rested? Not really, as there was simply so much to do, all of it interesting. Energised? Definitely . . . “

“Agistri and Rosy’s provided a wonderful setting which was both peaceful and invigorating. I so appreciated being surrounded by the beauty – bees buzzing in orange blossom – and being by, and in, the sea. This scenery that Homer would have known really enhanced the experience of studying the text.”

“The group was amazing and I loved your insights and questioning of the text. It was an amazing and enriching experience.”

“It was a wonderful trip . . . I think the landscape, especially around the islands, is so seductive that you can see how these wonderful texts were written.”

To the Lighthouse in St Ives, September/October 2022

“The collaboration between facilitators and participants was rich indeed and I wonder how it was accomplished that everyone in the group was so insightful and intelligent and I might even say soul-searching.”

“Wonderful . . . The studio where the discussion took place is a beautiful, extraordinary place, the participants were imbued with the light and landscape, creating a friendly and committed atmosphere. The two facilitators were wonderful – knowledgeable and sensitive, understanding in depth not just the book but the group as a whole.”


Meanwhile, if writing is your preferred route to escaping the February blues, your creative juices are stirring and you fancy some armchair travel, there is still time to register for Alison Cable’s ‘Writing for Wellbeing’ workshop Journeys beginning on 20 February.


Email us if you are tempted by any of our studies and would like to know more!


And, last but not least, although it’s not part of our own schedule, we’d like to mention Salonista Harriet Griffey’s Writers’ Retreat in Spain from 10-17 June. Harriet explains:

Writers’ retreat with Harriet Griffey at Las Chimeneas, Spain, 10-17 June 2023

Whether you are completely new to writing or are trying to begin, develop or complete a piece of work, this writers’ retreat facilitated by Harriet Griffey (ex-publisher and author of Write Every Day) offers creative space to do so, along with one-to-one feedback and optional group opportunities to share and discuss your writing progress.

Set in the peaceful village of Mairena in the beautiful Alpujarra region of Spain, prices including full board and airport transfer (excluding flights) for a week’s retreat range from €860-€1050. Further details and booking at:

www.writersretreats.org

Proust in Paris with Toby – January 2023

“Let us be grateful to the people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who
make our souls blossom”

Of course I didn’t make that up.  It’s one of Marcel’s quotes which, I think, sums up the glorious weekend we all had in the City of Light (and not a little rain too – just enough to make us appreciate the gorgeous blue sky on Sunday).   

We all saw so much, eyes wide open and heads spinning with pages of handwriting, scrawly, spidery, crossings out, reworkings, work in progress.  We looked at photographs, information, paintings – so many paintings, books, artefacts and yes, even exquisite embroidery.  Painstakingly stitched and secured pearls and sparkles on fabrics woven by fairies, spun by silkworms and coloured by artists much greater than Elstir.  The purple opera coat which our man from the hotel said was too heavy for his wife to wear.   What a lark! As VW’s imagination might have said. 

We threw ourselves into Marcel’s world of suffering and lethargy, neurotic creativity, excess, music, madness and memory.

We definitely achieved our 10,000 steps each day.   And let’s not forget the food which was so central to our study (ha ha!) and sustenance.  We tasted foams, pearls, shavings and aromas of fermented Iranian lemons, liquorice.  We ordered  perfect scallops languishing in sea salty green puddles of unctuous who knows what? Fricassee and blanquette de veau, frites and farm cheeses. And the soufflé – the melting chocolate middle of the perfect sugared cake, the framboise birthday panna cotta with only  one candle to symbolise the hundreds of candles representing Toby’s circle of curious readers.  The metro carriage where everyone, almost on the dot of midnight sang Bonne Anniversaire to the amazing teacher who dreams up these treats for us all.  Did I say there was wine?   There was. Bien sûr!!

Le Swann Hôtel Littéraire was a treasure. “I created the Sociéte des Hôtels Litttéraires to share my love of books with the thousands of visitors whom I do not know, but who, I am sure, would be happy to find an author or a book by chance on a trip to Paris.”  (not to mention many other French cities) explains Jacques Letertre, President. 

Monsieur L came to talk to us over tea and madeleines.   He reminded me of a plump, pink, favourite uncle from Dickens.  This former banker and très sérieux collector of Proust books and much more, lives in an apartment in the factory where Marcel’s favourite coffee beans were roasted. The hotel, he told us, still serves coffee from the same company.  It is situated in the heart of the area where Marcel lived.   

The hotel madeleines however (this is a hotel with sweet cakes and excellent breakfasts) are, he admitted, slightly more ordinary.  The original moulds and recipe from Remembrance etc proved too expensive   They are, trust me, perfectly delicious for the weary, sugar-deprived Proustian  visitor whose head  is swirling with Albertine, Charlus, Swann and Odette.  They are what Francoise would have given everyone before they set off for a morning at the Bibliothèque Nationale or the Jacquemart André where, we were assured, 1000 guests could attend a soirée with no danger of one barouche crashing into another on the grand drive to the entrance.      

By the way, we all had rooms with names of characters from the volumes.  As probably the oldest participant, perhaps it was fitting that I was aunt Leonie….aaaargh!    I must rise from my couch and exercise… and, to quote MP “try to keep a patch of sky above your life”.  

Others must relate the Musée Carnavalet.  I only have the delicious photos and reports from the WhatsApp group.    I ran out of steam and time, filled my rucksack with mustards, fig jam and memories, hailed a taxi.  No porter or Françoise to report that “Madame has gone.” 

Going away with Toby on one of her magical study holidays – because, no apologies, these are holidays from everything you do and think about in real day-to-day life, is possibly a form of internet dating.   You don’t know who you will meet.  But you know it could work because there is a common theme.   We are all Toby’s students.   For me, meeting up with Proustians 1,2,3,4,5,6 – who knows how many! – was such a joy.   Crossing paths with new friends who have no ‘baggage’ apart from the carry-on kind, with wheels.  

Perhaps the best treat of all was getting to know some of Toby’s closest friends from when she lived in Paris.   Friends who have been on life’s journeys with her and continue to light up their lives. They certainly lit up ours.  

I think it was the ‘light’ in the darkest month of the year which I have taken away from our Paris adventure.  The light of everyone who was so game, so generous of spirit, who, in their own unique way, added something special to our beautiful time together.

To end on a low note… I lost my Freedom Pass somewhere along the way.   Quelle horreur! to arrive in the underground and no travel pass (young things won’t understand, a Freedom Pass allows geriatrics to go free on London tubes and buses.)   The complications of applying for a replacement online brought me back to real life with a bump, that and having to find the fridge and something to eat.   But the magic stays a little longer and I feel that Le Swann Hôtel Littéraire could be a Paris homecoming in the not too distant future.    If only Scott, who is a human Google walking map of Paris, would come along too!  Thank you, Scott, for always leading us in the right direction.

“My destination is no longer a place, rather a new way of seeing.”  

Marcel Proust

What is Wide Open Reading?

Photo by Katie Doherty on Unsplash

As 2023 begins we are launching ‘Wide Open Reading’, a series of occasional studies that will be slightly different to those we have traditionally offered, embracing a broader and more diverse variety of writers and texts. Initially focusing on fiction and poetry, every study will comprise 2-4 weekly meetings in London led by facilitators who are continually exploring and developing their in-depth knowledge of these relatively new works.

Our goal is to feature writers ranging from the mid-twentieth century to the present day, traditional or experimental in style, voicing the experiences of people from an unlimited range of places, communities and perspectives. This may include South Asia, the Caribbean, Africa (north, south and central), the Middle East, people of colour, displaced peoples, indigenous peoples, post-colonial experience, exiles, migrants, LGBTQ+ and more . . .

We aim to be genuinely wide open and invite you to join us with a correspondingly wide open mind. Our first title is Mohsin Hamid’s 2007 novel The Reluctant Fundamentalist, with meetings starting in February.

The Mutilated World

The Wawel Cathedral, Krakow, Poland, © Toby Brothers, 2022

Andy and I have travelled to Krakow to meet our daughter, Madeline, who has been working outside of Lviv. She has been doing humanitarian aid work for a small local NGO that is providing food, power and medical supplies to the eastern part of Ukraine that has been destroyed — and then re-destroyed — by Russian missile strikes. I gather her fiercely in my arms, but no encompassing hug, no comforting words can erase the reality of war that she is living. And that reality, despite my over-active imagination, I cannot truly comprehend as I have only read about it. What she speaks about in her time with the Ukrainian guys she works with is their laughter, their teasing, their attempts to understand her feminism against their more traditional gender roles — how they meet the logistical challenges of moving truckloads of donated items across war-torn spaces.

We are reconnecting with her as we wander around the beautiful city of Krakow. I learn more specifically about the cycles of the portioning of Poland and the vast and violent re-drawings of empire that this land bears witness to. We enter the Wawel Cathedral and, amidst the relics of saints and royals, we find the Crypt of National Poets. And there on the wall is a poem, shared with me many years ago in the wake of the 9/11 attacks by my Athenian colleague Lisa Haney, and returned to when the horrors of history and the moment well up in me: Try to Praise the Mutilated World by Adam Zagajewski.

Try to praise the mutilated world

In reading that poem again — in marble, on the wall of this crypt, next to my weary daughter — I feel how the layers of unliveable history shape us. Zagajewski connects the daily acts of praise of living with the web of struggle and loss that we inherit.

You must praise the mutilated world

This is a call, a demand that in spite of the mutilation we should find beauty and coherence. The horror must be included in the blessing. I don’t know how. And I want to turn away. And I know we are all called to learn, to seek understanding where there is grief, to see the scars of the past on the earth.

Praise the mutilated world

I remember first reading this poem in the aftermath of 9/11 and thinking — briefly, self-indulgently — that I had an understanding of living in war. Such an American indulgence! My understanding has become more layered as I contingently watch what happens in Ukraine. As a citizen of London, I am learning all the time how the aftermath of war has shaped and shifted time and place, how it reframes our lives today. The poem reflects how deeply and desperately the mind holds the everyday miracle of living in equilibrium with injustice and violence. The poem connects me to past reckonings with history’s wrath — and gives me the breath of the light of living.

Solstice is a celebration of the necessity of the darkening days with the shift towards more light in our daily cycle. This poem meets that primal movement with the historical movement between times of peace and times of struggle. Zagajewski catches the experience of using our imagination as a way into other stories (the eternal role of the creative arts), other histories. Isn’t this in part why we wander through old buildings, tapestried halls? And it is not really the moments of triumph we seek, but a map of how to negotiate the exiles, the griefs — the blasts into the work of living. 

In The New Republic, the poet Robert Pinsky wrote in 1993 that Mr. Zagajewski’s poems, in a collection titled Canvas, were “about the presence of the past in ordinary life: history not as chronicle of the dead, or an anima to be illuminated by some doctrine, but as an immense, sometimes subtle force inhering in what people see and feel every day — and in the ways we see and feel.”

More on Zagajewski can be found in this New York Times obituary from March 2021.

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