"I love Gdańsk, but I miss my desert"

Waris Dirie was just five years old when she underwent (=przeszła) genital mutilation (=obrzezanie) practised in the name of (=w imię) tradition in her tribe (=plemię)...She was 13 when she fled (=uciekła) her family, who wanted to marry her off (=wydać za mąż) to an elderly man. The girl arrived in London, where she worked as a maid in the Somalian Embassy (=ambasada) and after its closure (=zamknięcie) as a McDonald's employee. At the age of 20 Waris was noticed by a photographer Terence Donovan. Her career bloomed (=rozkwitła) with her appearance in the Pirelli Calendar and adverisements for Chanel, L'Oreal, Levi's and Revlon. In 1987 she also played a minor role in James Bond movie 'The Living Daylights'. The model took part in fashion shows in London, Milan, Paris and New York and her photos appeared in such fashion magazines as 'Elle', 'Glamour' and 'Vogue'. Taking advantage of (=wykorzystując) her popularity the model started to raise (=poruszać) the topic of FGM (female genital mutilation) and soon became a United Nations ambassador for the abolition (=zniesienie) of this cruel (=okrutny) practice (=proceder). In 1998 Waris published her first autobiography - Desert Flower. The book soon became a bestseller and in 2009 was adapted for the screen (=zekranizowana). The movie was a great success as well, receiving such awards (=nagrody) as Bavarian Film Awards and the Audience Award in the San Sebastian International Film Festival.

The cover of Waris' autobiography

Waris Dirie with Liya Kebede, the Ethiopian supermodel,
who played Waris in the film 'Desert Flower'

To my surprise, I have learnt today that Waris is currently living in Gdańsk. The human activist has bought a house at the seaside (=wybrzeże). Waris decided to move to Poland because of her best friend, Joanna, for whom Gdańsk is a home town. The women met in Vienna and soon made friends. When Joanna showed the model her home surroundings, Waris directly fell in love with (=zakochała się w) the Baltic Sea and decided to give in (=poddać się) to this spontaneous feeling. Each day she runs on Polish beaches, which she adores. She has filled her house with lots of African souvenirs and now is also living with part of her family. 

Click below to watch a trailer of the film 'Desert Flower':

Source of the photos : the Internet

Wisława Szymborska - "Mozart of Poetry"

Wisława Szymborska, a Nobel Prize laureate in poetry, died at the age of 89 on 1st February. One of the most popular Polish poets made her debut in 1945, publishing her first poem 'Looking for a word' in the daily paper, 'Dziennik Polski'.The honorary citizen of the city of Cracow lived far from modern tumult and haste. The author of around 20 volumes of verse tackled serious subjects with simplicity and humour. Szymborska has even been described as the "Mozart of poetry", joining the elegance of language with the fury of Beethoven. Her works have been translated into English, French, Hebrew, Arabic, Japanese and many others languages. Szymborska's poetry has also influenced other branches of art - her poem "Nothing Twice" turned into a song written by Andrzej Mundkowski and performed by Łucja Prus in 1965 (Maanam's cover was a hit in 1994). Krzysztof Kieślowski's film, "Three Colours : Red", was inspired by the poem "Love at First Sight".

Here are two poems by Wisława Szymborska in the original versions and translated into French and English. I invite you to read the translated versions, paying attention to how the translators have expressed the original concepts, ideas, images and feelings...Have they captured the essence and the atmosphere of the originals? 

Widziane z góry

Na polnej drodze leży martwy żuk.

Trzy pary nóżek złożył na brzuchu starannie.

Zamiast bezładu śmierci – schludność i porządek.

Groza tego widoku jest umiarkowana,

zakres ściśle lokalny od perzu do mięty.

Smutek się nie udziela.

Niebo jest błękitne.

Dla naszego spokoju, śmiercią jakby płytszą

nie umierają, ale zdychają zwierzęta

tracąc – chcemy w to wierzyć – mniej czucia i świata,

schodząc – jak nam się zdaje – z mniej tragicznej sceny.

Ich potulne duszyczki nie straszą nas nocą,

szanują dystans,

wiedzą, co to mores.

I oto ten na drodze martwy żuk

w nieopłakanym stanie ku słonku polśniewa.

Wystarczy o nim tyle pomyśleć, co spojrzeć:

wygląda, że nie stało mu się nic ważnego.

Ważne związane jest podobno z nami.

Na życie tylko nasze, naszą tylko śmierć,

śmierć, która wymuszonym cieszy się pierwszeństwem.

Wszelki wypadek, 1972.

Vue d’en haut

Sur un petit sentier gît un hanneton mort.

Ses trois paires de pattes soigneusement pliées.

Au lieu du mortel gâchis -ordre et netteté.

L’horreur de cette vision reste modérée,

et sa portée locale, du chiendent à la menthe.

La tristesse ne se partage guère.

Le ciel est bleu.

Pour notre tranquillité, les animaux ne meurent pas,

mais crèvent d’une mort que l’on dit moins profonde,

en y perdant -nous voulons le croire- moins de sens et de monde,

quittant, comme il nous semble, une scène moins tragique.

Leurs âmes humbles et soumises ne hantent pas nos nuits,

gardent toutes leurs distances,

restent à leur place.

Ainsi donc, le hanneton, gisant mort sur le sable,

brille au soleil dans son état nullement déplorable.

Il suffit de penser à lui d’un seul regard:

Non, rien de capital ne lui est arrivé.

Ce qui est capital ne s’accorde qu’à nous.

À notre vie, à notre mort uniquement,

notre mort qui, à tout instant, impose sa priorité.

« Cas où », 1972, extrait de De la mort sans exagérer, Paris, Fayard, 1996. Traduction de Piotr Kamiński.

Zdumienie

Czemu w zanadto jednej osobie?
Tej a nie innej? I co tu robię?
W dzień co jest wtorkiem? W domu nie gnieździe?
W skórze nie łusce? Z twarzą nie liściem?
Dlaczego tylko raz osobiście?
Za wszystkie czasy i wszystkie glony?
Za jamochłony i nieboskłony?
Akurat teraz? Do krwi i kości?
Sama u siebie z sobą? Czemu
Nie obok ani sto mil stąd,
Nie wczoraj ani sto lat temu
Siedzę i patrzę w ciemny kąt
- tak jak z wzniesionym nagle łbem
patrzy warczące zwane psem?

Astonishment
Why after all this one and not the rest?
Why this specific self, not in a nest,
but a house? Sewn up not in scales, but skin?
Not topped off by, a leaf, but by a face?
Why on earth now, on Tuesday of all days,
and why on earth, pinned down by this star`s pin?
In spite of years of my not being here?
In spite of seas of all these dates and fates,
These cells, celestials, and coelenterates?
What is it really that made me appear
Neither an inch nor half a globe too far,
Neither a minute nor aeons too early?
What made me fill myself with me so squarely?
Why am I staring now into the dark
And muttering this unending monoloque
Just like the growling thing we call a dog?

Translation : Stanisław Barańczak

I invite you to listen to a song which owes its lyrics to the poem of Wisława Szymborska  - Grzegorz Turnau's 'To tu, to tam' with wonderful lyrics - the poem 'Atlantyda'  (English: 'Atlantis') 

The source of the photo : the Internet