20th Century Polish literature

from Travels With Herodotus by Ryszard Kapuscinski: on nonverbal communication

/ zdunno03 / 7 Comments

My travels with Negusi–and we drove thousands of kilometers together under difficult and hazardous conditions–were yet another lesson in what an abundance of signs and signals any human being is. All one has to do is make an effort to notice and interpret them. Predisposed to thinking that another person communicates with us solely by means of the spoken or written word, we do not stop to consider that there are other methods of conversation. Everything speaks: the  expression of the face and eyes, the gestures of the hand and the movements of the body, the vibrations which the latter sends out, his clothing and the way it is worn; dozens of other transmitters, amplifiers, and mufflers, which together make up the individual being and–to use the conceit of the Anglophone world–his personal chemistry.

Technology, which reduces human exchange to an electronic signal, impoverishes and mutes this multifarious nonverbal language with which, when we are together, in close proximity, we continually and unconsciously communicate. This unspoken language, moreover, the language of facial expression and minute gesture, is infinitely more sincere and genuine than the spoken or written one: it is far more difficult to tell lies without words, to conceal falsehood and hypocrisy.

translated from the Polish by Klara Glowczewska

from Travels With Herodotus by Ryszard Kapuscinski: the reasons given to go to war

/ zdunno03 / 4 Comments

The Great Ruler, occupied with the conquest of the world, goes about it somewhat like an avid but still methodical collector. He says to himself: I already have the Ionians, I have the Carians and the Lydians. Who’s missing? I lack the Tracinians, I lack the Getae, I lack the Scythians. And instantly the desire to possess those still beyond his grasp begins to burn in his heart. Whereas they, still free and independent, do not yet comprehend that by attracting the attention of the Great Ruler, they have caused a sentence to be passed upon themselves. Nor that the rest is merely a matter of time. Because rarely is such a sentence carried out with reckless and irresponsible impetuosity. Usually in these situations, the King of Kings resembles a skulking predator, who already has his prey in his ken and waits patiently for the propitious moment.

In the realm of human affairs, admittedly, one also needs a pretext. It is important to give it the rank of a universal imperative or of a divine commandment. The range of choices is not great: either it is that we must defend ourselves, or that we have an obligation to help others, or that we are fulfilling heaven’s will. The optimal pretext would link all three of these motives. The attackers should appear in the glory of the anointed, in the role of those who have found favor in his chosen god’s eye.

translated from the Polish by Klara Glowczewska

from Travels With Herodotus by Ryszard Kapuscinski: the cause of war

/ zdunno03 / 8 Comments

Of course, the map of the world which Herodotus has before him, or which he imagines, differs from the one confronting us today. His world is much smaller than ours. Its center consists  of the mountainous and (at the time) forested lands around the Aegean Sea. Those lying on the western shore constitute Greece; those on the eastern, Persia. And so right away we hit upon the heart of the matter–Herodotus is born, grows up, and just as he starts to figure out everything around him, one of his very first observations is that the world is sundered, split into East and West, and that these halves are in a state of dissension, conflict, war.

The question that immediately suggests itself to him, as well as to any thinking human being, is “Why should this be so?” And it is this very question that informs the foreword of Herodotus’s masterpiece: Here are presented the results of the enquiry carried out by Herodotus of Halicarnassus, . . .in particular, the cause of the hostilities.

Precisely. We can see that this question, oft repeated since the dawn of history, has vexed humankind for thousands of years now: Why do peoples wage war against one another? What are the origins of wars? What do people hope to accomplish when they start a war? What drives them? What do they think? What is their goal? An unending litany of questions! Herodotus dedicates his life, diligently, tirelessly, to finding the answers. But from among the many issues, some quite general and abstract, he selects the most concrete to investigate, the events that took place before his very eyes or of which memories were still fresh and alive or, even if slightly faded, still very much available. In others words, he concentrates his attention and his inquiries on the following subject: Why does Greece (that is Europe) wage war with Persia (that is with Asia)? Why do these two worlds–the West (Europe) and the East (Asia)–fight against each other, and do so to the death? Was it always thus? Will it always be thus?

translated from the Polish by Klara Glowczewska

from Travels With Herodotus by Ryszard Kapuscinski: on language

/ zdunno03 / 11 Comments

I walked around the city, copying down signboards, the names of goods in stores, words overheard at bus stops. In movie theaters I scribbled blindly, in darkness, the words on the screen, and noted the slogans on banners carried by demonstrators in the streets. I approached India not through images, sounds, and smells, but through words; furthermore, words not of the indigenous Hindi, but of a foreign, imposed tongue, which by then had so fully taken root here that it was for me an indispensable key to this country, almost identical with it. I understood that every distinct geographic universe has its own mystery and that one can decipher it only by learning the local language. Without it, this universe will remain impenetrable and unknowable, even if one were to spend entire years in it. I noticed, too, the relationship between naming and being, because I realized upon my return to the hotel that in town I had seen only that which I was able to name: for example, I remembered the acacia tree, but not the tree standing next to it, whose name I did not know. I understood, in short, that the more words I knew, the richer, fuller, and more variegated would be the world that opened before me, and which I could capture.