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The film Frozen which you, or your children, surely know, was loosely based on it. Interpretations, deliberate feminist ‘misinterpretations’*, artistic, musical, film, scholarly and literary takes on it abound – a story written almost 175 years ago. I got together with 2 other Polish-connected artists, Dagmara Rudkin, a visual artist, and composer Peter Copley along with other artists including photographer Wendy Pye and director Mark Hewitt to create a re-imagining of the Snow Queen story by Hans Christian Anderson. Our project SNOW Q https://snowqproject.wordpress.com will culminate in a pilot installation at Winter Solstice in Brighton. The original story is many-layered, (actually seven stories in one), rich in symbolism and full of astonishing characters not least the evil Snow Queen at the centre of it. Yet how ambivalent everyone is about her power!

Is she a strong woman taking her strength for granted or is she a disturbed mother-figure? A victim herself? Beautiful? (whose terms?) Seductive? A fashion icon? Grasping ruling class tyrant? Force of nature? Death? Depression?

And how is my work changing as I work with other artists and different groups? Thinking about it while the sun is shining here in the UK is strange in itself. I find I’m here but also elsewhere much of the time…perhaps not unusual after all. 

Thanks to an Arts Council Research and Development grant we have started working on this collaborative project and are documenting the process on a blog specially for it:

https://snowqproject.wordpress.com

If you haven’t already seen it please have a look and if you know which buttons to press follow us. As there’s several of us involved it’s going to be a more regular and intense blog than these random musings. I’ll be focusing there for a while but will come back to this blog in the end. (So don’t hang up!)

*Pauline Greenhill, Women’s and Gender Studies Department, University of Winnipeg, Canada

 

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Some years ago I was involved in a poetry event called Even Cowgirls Listen to Poetry which included a line-dancing display.  To me it seemed perfectly logical to put the two together. Everyone in Brighton was learning how to do the Tush Push then. OK, nearly everyone. Line dancing had started as a gay craze (often the way) and spread everywhere. Country and Western music (with its working class American songs) was suddenly all the rage here. I knew some likely gals adept at dancing and so they did a little show alongside the poetry (Jill Gardiner and myself) with singer songwriter Carol Prior. Some of the audience loved the combo, some remained bemused…but I need to back-track.

Romantic ideas about the Wild West predate the line-dancing craze of course. Musical hall artistes were dressing as cowboys and girls in the early 20th century as postcards below from an Into the Lime Light collection show.

Reproduced by kind permission of http://www.intothelimelight.org

 

 

 

Reproduced by kind permission of http://www.intothelimelight.org

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Growing up (though I adored the Lucy Show) there weren’t many (any?) female role models I could identify with. Instead there was the Lone Ranger.  The Lone Ranger was a justice-seeking, chivalrous Robin Hood sort of cowboy protecting poor, defenceless people from ruthless and extreme macho bandits. He had a ‘trustworthy’ Native American companion (sidekick really) called Tonto, who despite being a skilled tracker was portrayed in ridiculously stereotypical fashion. As recently as 2013 the film was remade with Johnny Depp playing Tonto… so the fascination, along with a good portion of racism, remains. If you don’t remember the original you have to imagine that the Lone Ranger was trying to avenge the death of his brother – murdered by white men. He didn’t get drunk or kill people. Crucially for me as a child, he wore a white Stetson and black mask and gloves and he rode a horse named Silver…

All too often the Western films we watched back then, (‘Cowboys and Indians’ films) portrayed white men as heroes and either glossed over the repeated genocide of Native Americans or justified it by portraying them as menacing savages. It’s now estimated about a quarter of cattle herding cowboys were in fact Black, much of the language cowboys used derives from Mexican Spanish. Luckily too, imaginative interpretations of the Western trope abound, from Ed Dorn’s trippy Gunslinger to Brokeback Mountain, Ondaatje’s Billy the Kid to Patrick Gale’s Canadian pioneers.  The work of Native American authors  – Jo Harjo, Paula Gunn Allen, Natalie Diaz, among many others – enriches and rebalances both this narrative and the North American canon. For better or worse there were also women sharpshooters like Annie Oakley, women who fought for prohibition as well as activists like Helen Hunt Jackson who exposed the federal mistreatment of Native Americans.

At their best the legends about cowboys appealed in Europe owing to the ruggedness and vastness of the American landscape, with its prairies and mountains, and spirit of quest and exploration, a freedom from the confines of European society perhaps, America being the new world for Europeans. A good part of my childhood was spent riding my imaginary horse, looking tough, rescuing folk and seeing off the bad guys instead of doing whatever it was I was supposed to be doing. No wonder attempts to transform me into a young lady failed. What chance did they possibly have?

Reproduced with kind permission from http://www.intothelimelight.org

 

 

 

Polish political poster for Solidarity from late 1980’s using cowboy imagery

 

Reproduced by kind permission of http://www.intothelimelight.org.

A few years ago I started writing a new book almost by accident. I’d written a few lines about the lazy heat (not set in the U.K obviously) of high noon – a Western cliché as it happens, only instead of a horse and rider a mysterious truck appeared on the dusty road. I was going to discard these lines as they seemed to be going nowhere but suddenly found I needed to set other projects aside instead and focus on the story – or stories – unfolding before me.

It takes place in what a friend described as a spaghetti Western setting, more Hispanic than my usual Anglo-Polish landscapes though for my money you can take the girl/author out of Poland but…the usual themes are still there war and love, love and war. Are there cowboys or girls in it? Or are they characters who may have fallen under a cowboygirl spell sometime? There are certainly two women and they fall in love and go on a quest and one of them wears a cowboy hat. And it is all true. It says so on the cover.

The True Story of Cowboy Hat and Ingénue by Maria Jastrzębska

will be published by Liquorice Fish/Cinammon Press in October 2018.

For more information see:

https://www.cinnamonpress.com/index.php/blog/entry/maria-jastrzebska-on-the-true-story-of-cowboy-hat-and-ingenue

 

 

 

 

 

 

Words are powerful. They change meanings, connotations as language evolves. The goddess Trivia was clearly demoted. If you remember saying ‘straights’ to mean cigarettes (rather than joints) you are probably over 60. If you ever said sick to mean good, well below. I remember correcting students who said ‘coloured’ instead of Black. They thought Black was rude, didn’t want to offend.

When I was growing up ‘queer’ was an insult word for gay men. Women (and some men) I know still balk at using it. Most younger people I know prefer it to saying gay or lesbian. My friend, poet John McCullough wrote a wonderful essay for Queer in Brighton‘s anthology exploring and celebrating the word queer for its inclusivity and subversive quirkiness. The lengthening list of letters to describe the LGBTIQ community has amused and irritated people both on the outside and inside of the community. But when you are in a minority or seen as ‘other’, language and being able to name your experience in your own way (rather than being told what you are by someone else) is especially important. You have to fight to be recognised and you’re seldom in a position to take your identity for granted.

I recently went to see the exhibition about the life and work of 20th century artist Gluck at Brighton Museum. One of the things that struck me is how different groups and communities have claimed Gluck.  As someone who wore tailored ‘masculine’ clothes, with cropped hair and who had (quite a few!) relationships with other women she became a lesbian icon. More recently “a trailblazer of gender fluidity” for the Trans community. I couldn’t help wondering what she herself would have made of these legacies.

I love how many younger people (though not exclusively, think American writer Eileen Myles,) are rejecting or questioning gender stereotypes by appearance or pronouns to describe themselves. At the same time I think it’s crucial not to gloss over the misogyny (from the Greek, hatred – no less – of women) in society. It’s not a level playing field from which we choose equal options. As an older feminist I’m heartened seeing young women (men, everyone) take up campaigns about sexual harassment, male violence, economic inequality.  I’m also gutted that we still need to.

So maybe that is something to do with my relationship to the word lesbian.

I love the inclusivity (now) of queer and at the same time I mistrust general words. It’s too easy for women to get lost – be made invisible in them (since men are – still – the default, women the other). Also I have a soft spot for the word lesbian. Maybe it’s what was current when you first come out – like the affection you have for music you grew up with – which makes you embrace a particular word. It’s got limitations as a Western/Eurocentric word –  ancient Lesbos being the birthplace of Sappho, but it makes me happy that she was a poet as well as a woman loving women.  It also suggests an exclusivity (of only relating sexually to women) which actually doesn’t apply to lots of lesbians’ experience. But there’s something uncompromising about a word that is so much about being a woman. I can still remember how arresting it was to hear it and start using it myself. And all the times I heard any woman standing up for herself get ‘accused’ of being a lesbian, her opinion dismissed. I asked a friend who is around 20 years younger than me how she referred to herself, what she felt about the word lesbian. She said she calls herself queer or gay and – to my surprise, since I expected her to think its power had long worn off  – she said the word lesbian packed a punch, so she would reserve it for confrontations rather than casual conversation.

Gertrude Stein, Alice B Toklas, Basket the dog

Poets seek to name the impossible, the just-out-of-reach. Those from minority/disadvantaged groups look for words to name that which is sidelined, excluded.  Words do and don’t matter. Lesbian – not a word to hide in.

Gertrude Stein wrote her famous rose sentence in 1913, in her poem Sacred Emily

It’s that time of year again…complicated…?

So many kinds of wrong. The manipulation of women, families with no money, anyone physically or mentally vulnerable, heart-broken; the pressure to spend/consume, to cope and act jolly and the imposition of cultural norms, an expectation of conformity regardless of other faiths or persuasion is often unbearable at this time of year. Not to mention all the sugar or booze.

And yet and yet and yet, despite all that, I take a childish delight in Christmas and also Advent: this current period of time of preparing for it. It’s probably the time of year I feel most Polish and also recall childhood Christmases – both good and bad – (yes, it’s complicated) and somewhere in the middle of it all the sense of hope on the longest night.  Of course Christianity doesn’t have the monopoly on festivals of light or celebrations of the longest night in the year, Persians, Greeks, Romans, pagans, Hindus and Jews invented such rituals long before the Christians.

There are many traditions and customs which form part of the Polish celebrations with its main focus on Wigilia i.e Christmas Eve. I think one of my favourite is the laying of an extra place for an unexpected guest. A stranger who is to be welcomed. Given the recent track record of my two (birth and adopted) homelands, Poland and the U.K in welcoming refugees, increasingly this is a heinously enormous irony. I don’t imagine those in power read blogs such as this or listen if they do, but here’s a flicker sent out into the universe, a reminder that the extra place on the table doesn’t have a sign on it saying no Muslims or LGBTQ people for instance. Worth mentioning too how many LGBTQ people still dread times like Xmas when their families deny who they are or who they are with. There was a wonderful event in Brighton recently organised by Brighton Migrant Solidarity and Thousand 4 £1000 to raise money for supporting refugees. It included a reading from activist-poet Saradha Soobrayen and a film about the collective making of an amazing patchwork blanket for a refugee family. The project took as its name the first line of a verse inscribed on Brighton’s city gates as you drive in:

Hail Guest. We ask not what thou art
If friend, we greet thee, hand & heart
If stranger, such no longer be
If foe, our love shall conquer thee.

Too cheesy? That’s another thing I like about this time of year. Permission to be ultra cheesy! Angry, indignant too. Sad. Excited. Complicated…(See Death and the Devil included in the Christmas display from Kraków below.)

We’ve had some fantastic television here in the U.K celebrating 50 years since the start of the decriminalisation of male homosexuality in 1967, (for instance: Patrick Gales’s Man in the Orange Shirt, Daisy Asquith’s Queerama.) It took decades to fully remove these vicious laws, the same ones which had put Oscar Wilde and countless other men behind bars and which were used to terrorise and humiliate so many others. As George Montague – the ‘oldest gay in Brighton’ – has made clear: it’s not a pardon from government that is now needed it’s an apology.

But – and, with notable exceptions, it’s an immense but – what of women, lesbian and bisexual…female homosexuals, gay women, dykes… throughout these last 50 years? Again and again our lives are ‘hidden from history’*. Did Queen Victoria really say “women do not do such things” and refuse to include women in the legislation vilifying gay men? Or was it male MPs not wanting to put ideas in women’s heads? (More likely.) Anyway, the silence surrounding lesbianism speaks volumes about social attitudes to all women’s sexuality. Those of us who have been around these last 50 years have countless stories still to tell, silences to break. No space here to go into the madonna-whore bind which all women have struggled with; suffice to say women’s sexuality has been defined for decades purely in relation to men. Not surprisingly then the 6th demand of the Women’s Liberation movement passed at the conference in Edinburgh in 1974 was two-fold. It included : The right to a self-defined sexuality and an end to discrimination against lesbians. The oppression of lesbians was always at the heart of all women’s oppression. Lesbian was the ‘accusation’ – unbelievably it still often is – levelled at any women who spoke up or stepped out of line, at groups of women getting together, acting autonomously.

As someone who became an activist in the seventies, I find it hard now to convey both how afraid we were and at the same time how hopeful of changing the world, how euphoric at challenging stereotypes. While huge gains have been made there is still so far to go, not least in the current political climates and with backlashes across the world.

The system of patriarchy squeezes everyone into a female or male stereotype. (Again unbelievably in the 21st century, one quick look at clothes for toddlers, sharply divided into tough camoflauge v fluffy pink, says it all). Lesbians, gay men, bisexual, transgender, intersex or queer people don’t fit neatly into that system. That makes us ‘other’ (which means lesser) and since women are already other lesbians are doubly so. The wisest of gay men saw that they needed to make common cause with women. The hatred aimed at gay men for being somehow ‘feminine’ was part and parcel of misogyny and of the division into ‘real men’ and ‘real women’ with all the inequality that implied. Gay liberation and women’s liberation cannot be separate. You just can’t have one without the other. At best we feminists saw how intertwined all oppressions are, how class and race and gender divisions work like clockwork together and that we had to look beyond our own particular struggles to those of people world-wide and to consider the planet we live on itself.  I’m not saying we always succeeded. Sometimes we just turned in on ourselves and there was dreadful infighting (as in so many opposition movements, on the Left, the women’s movement, gay groups etc) which Monty Python sent up so beautifully in the ‘People’s Front of Judea’ sketch in Life of Brian. But there were also breakthroughs, solidarity and clarity, like the many lesbians who supported Asian women striking at Grunwicks, or the equal pay strike at Trico, the LGSM (Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners) Campaign, or the many lesbians who campaigned for women’s refuges, for women’s reproductive rights, for disability rights, for Rock Against Racism, for awareness about AIDS and so on as well as fighting back when the insidious Section 28 was brought in by the Tories in the late 1980’s prohibiting “the promotion of homosexuality” in schools.

There were also much more hidden battles which don’t fit into timelines or newsorthy events. Women who were open about their sexuality lost custody of their children, others lived for years in fear of that happening, were shut away in mental hospitals, lost economic security, were attacked on the streets or in their homes, coerced, raped, ridiculed and belittled. It took courage and strength to come out to family and community. One week ahead of the Lesbian and Gay Pride marches in 1980’s London there were Lesbian Strength marches. Looking back it seems obvious to me that we needed all the strength we could get. Here’s hoping stories from the last 50 years will continue to be told, that this isn’t it ‘oh we’ve done gays now’ and that women’s stories are given pride of place.

 

 

 

* the title of Sheila Rowbotham’s ground-breaking book published in 1975!

 

Some years ago myself and the wonderful Brighton-based writer John O’Donaghue were kidnapped (metaphorically speaking) by two Slovenians, the poet-mountaineer Iztok Osojnik and scholar/translator Ana Jelnikar. They took us to an international poetry translation workshop in the lovely, peaceful village of Škocjan in the Karst region famous for its limestone and Dante-esque caverns, festivals and plum brandy. This was The Golden Boat (a name referencing Srečko Kosovel, Slovenia’s iconic poet, translated into English by Ana Jelnikar and the American poet Barbara Siegel Carson who was also there). We met poets from Finland, Romania, France and Slovenia. That’s how I – who’d foolishly said I wasn’t really keen on translating poetry as it’s so hard – came to translate Iztok Osojnik’s poetry in collaboration with Ana Jelnikar, with Elsewhere his selected poems (Pighog Press 2011). It was extremely hard. And inspiring!

Elżbieta Wójcik Leese that most prolific of Polish poetry translators, and a very fine poet herself, then introduced me to the work of the Polish writer Justyna Bargielska and I have not looked back. Modern Poetry in Translation published an issue with a focus on Polish poets, among them Bargielska. She is the author of eight poetry collections, two fiction books and two children’s books, has won the Rainer Maria Rilke poetry competition, twice won the Gdynia Literary Prize and her work appears in a myriad of journals and anthologies and in a variety of languages in Canada, Czech Republic, France, Germany, The Netherlands, Russia and Slovenia as she gains a rapidly expanding international reputation.

I’ve written more in another blog about the challenge  – what Canadian poet Anne Carson would call ‘maddeningly attractive’ aspects of translation  – of translating Justyna Bargielska. Or keeping up with her as Jamie McKendrick accurately sums it up below. But now I am delighted to tell you for the very first time in the U.K Justyna Bargielska’s work will be published by Smokestack Press later this year in my translations of her selected poems The Great Plan B . I’m hoping audiences here will soon get to meet her for themselves. To translate a book I think you have to fall in love with the work and that’s definitely what happened to me.

Two poets I admire put it like this:

“Justyna Bargielska’s poetry is an art of fierce surprises. Poems that might look small and docile on the page are anything but: they soon reveal themselves to be rigged boxes of devilish wisdom, opening out onto a world that is both familiar and suddenly, unpredictably, luminous, frightening, or both at once: ‘Do you know what our odds are? Zero./ But I’ve learnt to play for time / as it’s the body no less which is left on the battlefield’.  Bargielska’s flexible idiom accommodates the most intimate, absurd and profound aspects of our contemporary lives at an almost breathless speed: like telegrams these poems demand to be read over and over. And Maria Jastrzębska’s razor-sharp, glittering translations now bring the full range of Bargielska’s extraordinary voice to an English-speaking readership. If there can be such a thing as a tender rallying cry, this poetry is it: ‘I’m not enclosing hugs, I don’t send kisses, I wage /war on all fronts. Write back to me asap’.” Tiffany Atkinson

“These poems by Justyna Bargielska make the word ‘daring’ sound tame. They move at a cruel speed, or as she puts it with characteristically mordant wit “I’m not leaving you, shoes, I’m merely walking ahead.” In a fairer world talent as prodigal as this would not be allowed. Maria Jastrzębska’s translations are urgent and electric, and effortlessly manage to keep up.” Jamie McKendrick

The Great Plan B cover

 

 

 


img_2634What does it mean to be different? How do we perceive others? It tells us everything about a society knowing how difference is treated within it. This will be the subject of a new exhibition at Fabrica the Brighton gallery, where I first began to write blogs as their artist in residence a few years ago. They/Onlar by Turkish artist Ipek Duben runs from April 8-May 29 2017.

This blog follows on directly from the last one where I spoke to writers I met in Poland about their experience of being different. Below is what 2 writersRadek Wiśniewski, writer, poet, editor, founding publisher at  Stowarzyszenie Żywych Poetów and cultural activist and Olgerd Dziechciarz, poet, prose writer and cultural activist had to say (translated from Polish). The title of this blog Chipboard (the wonderfully expressive paździerz in Polish – not least given three ‘z’s) was a word I discussed at length with Radek and translator pals. It was the cheap material used make furniture in Poland in the 1980’s. In the last year we have seen divisions between people deepen dramatically, yet in my social life these divisions don’t show up. Us and Them aren’t in contact. Is it different in Poland? Are people in opposing factions more bound up socially? That was my impression but it still shocks when chasms open. As over here, people I spoke to were focussed on surviving the current climate.

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Radek Wiśniewski

To be other doesn’t mean being at risk, for now at any rate but it’s already uncomfortable. And how long is for now? We think we’re the same and surround ourselves in good faith with like-minded people. That’s the illusion but it’s breaking up, the bubble is bursting. It turns out we differ in ways it was difficult to see until recently. For instance at a friend’s barbecue we went to with Małgosia last autumn: when conversation was flagging we turned to the latest news about refugees drowning at sea and were saying that if they do reach the shores of one or at most two countries and these countries aren’t coping, something needs to happen. We talked about Pope Francis himself calling on all Catholics to accept a family into each parish.

“Best thing to do would be to shoot at them and not miss.” said one person, a Catholic who had just sent their child for first holy communion. We looked at each other amazed waiting for some response from the other guests at this garden party of educated people, who’d worked hard, often earning money abroad, to build their small oases of family life.

“I’d go first, if you gave me a gun.” another father of the tribe joined in. The children were playing around us, singing along to Disco Polo.

“You told me to watch what I say about refugees and that we’re in a minority, but I didn’t believe you” said Małgosia on the way home.

It was getting dark. These same people will go to church on Sunday to worship a Jew, himself once a refugee from Egypt, his mother Miriam and father Yossef. These same people will gladly tell you about their community’s terrible fate throughout the great wars, migrations and exile. Yet the people who truly understand the legacy of the Polish people and of Poland are not the ones we met with at the barbecue. These are the inhabitants of some kind of Polandia, built on the ruins of Poland. They have settled for a sham, a shabby chipboard facade. Only I’m not sure whether the real Poland, as it once was, ever existed. Or is it that it exists only in the minds, the idealisation of a few individuals, foreigners, others. Like you. For now at any rate.’

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Olgerd Dziechciarz:

Being different means being yourself. I don’t know if I’m different, but I try be all right with myself. I see how people bend over backwards, let themselves get bent out of shape in order to fit in – I’m fairly resistant to that. Once in the 80’s I belonged to a punk band, it was harder then to be yourself, or maybe it was easier, I don’t know anymore. Anyhow that was a formative time. Basically I try not to judge other people. In political matters I’m getting closer (again) to anarchism, a humane kind, similar to Kropotnik’s. In matters of poetry I know less and less. Or maybe I just know less and less generally. Not important. What’s important is that sometimes I host cool people, we talk about literature, we have a laugh, sometimes we have a beer or something stronger and life feels more bearable. The world is beautiful, people are beautiful, except for those who aren’t especially beautiful but – oh wonder of wonders – are the ones who claim the right to make decisions for us. And that’s the only thing which worries me. But maybe one day we’ll get together and drive them out. Yes, I still believe that.’

Next week the London Book Fair has its market focus on POLAND. Opportunities to hear more from Polish writers, what will be uppermost on their agendas?https://literature.britishcouncil.org/project/the-london-book-fair-poland-market-focus-2017

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https://literature.britishcouncil.org/blog/2017/first-monday-blog-polish-literature-across-borders/

 

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