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🗓️ 5 February 2025
⏱️ 11 minutes
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Poet’s don’t typically compete for “coolest book cover,” and it’s probably because Zbigniew Herbert won years ago. Today’s poem is his tender look at poverty, pleasure, and irretrievable loss.
Zbigniew Herbert was born on October 29, 1924, in Poland in the city of Lvov, which is now a part of the Ukraine. His grandfather was an Englishman who settled in Lvov to teach English. His father, a former member of the Legions that had fought for restoration of Poland’s independence, was a bank manager. Herbert’s formal education began in Lvov and continued under German occupation in the form of clandestine study at the underground King John Casimir University, where he majored in Polish literature. He was a member of the underground resistance movement. In 1944, he moved to Krakow, and three years later he graduated from the University of Krakow with a master’s degree in economics. He also received a law degree from Nicholas Copernicus University in Torun and studied philosophy at the University of Warsaw under Henryk Elzenberg.
During the 1950s, Herbert worked at many low-paying jobs because he refused to write within the framework of official Communist guidelines. After widespread riots against Soviet control in 1956 brought about a political “thaw,” Herbert became an administrator at the Union of Polish Composers and published his first collection, Struna swiatla [The Chord of Light] (Czytelnik, 1956). The book immediately placed him among the most prominent representatives of the “Contemporaries” (young poets and writers associated with the weekly Contemporary Times).
In 1957, Herbert published his second collection of verse, Hermes, pies i gwiazda [Hermes, the Dog and the Star] (Czytelnik). Four years later, he published his third book of poems, Studium przedmiotu [Study of the Object] (Czytelnik, 1961). In 1968, his Selected Poems, translated into English by Czeslaw Milosz and Peter Dale Scott, was released in both the United States and England, making Herbert one of the most popular contemporary poets in the English-speaking world. In 1971, he released the first Polish edition of Selected Poems.
Herbert’s 1983 collection, Raport z oblezonego miasta i inne wiersze [Report from the Besieged City] (Instytut Literacki), dealt with the ethical problems Poland faced while under martial law. The book was issued simultaneously through an emigré publishing house and as an underground edition in Poland. He also published a number of essay collections and works of drama. In 1962, he released his famous work, Barbarzyńca wogrodzie [Barbarian in the Garden] (Czytelnik), which was eventually translated into numerous languages.
Herbert’s numerous awards include the Kościelski Foundation Prize, the Austrian Lenau Prize, the Alfred Jurzykowski Prize, the Herder Prize, the Petrarch Prize, the Bruno Schulz Prize, and the Jerusalem Prize for the Freedom of the Individual in Society.
Herbert was a coeditor of the poetry journal Poezja from 1965 to 1968 but resigned in protest of antisemitic policies. He traveled widely throughout the West and lived in Paris, Berlin, and the United States, where he taught briefly at the University of California, Los Angeles. He died in Warsaw on July 28, 1998.
-bio via Academy of American Poets
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0:00.0 | Welcome back to The Daily Poem, a podcast from Goldberry Studios. |
0:08.3 | I'm Sean Johnson, and today is Wednesday, February 5th, 2025. |
0:13.4 | Today's poem is by Spignev Herbert, Polish author of the post-World War II era, |
0:23.8 | and it's called The Salt of the Earth. |
0:27.7 | I'll read it once, offer a few comments, and then read it one more time. |
0:30.3 | The Salt of the Earth. |
0:34.3 | There goes a woman. |
0:39.5 | Her shawl dappled as a meadow, clasping a paper bag against her chest. |
0:46.7 | This takes place at 12 noon, in the loveliest part of town. Here tourists are shown the park with the swan, the villas with gardens, perspectives, and roses. There goes a woman with a bulging bundle. |
0:56.3 | Mother, what are you cradling? |
1:02.8 | Now, as she stripped and sugar crystals tip out of the bag, the woman bends down, an expression in her eye no painter of broken jugs could ever convey. Her dark hand grabs the spilled |
1:09.2 | treasures, and she pours back bright drops and dust. |
1:13.8 | How long she stays down on her knees, as if she wished to gather the sweetness of the |
1:19.7 | earth down to the very last grain. |
1:24.7 | I love this poem. |
1:30.5 | Period. Full stop. I'm not sure what else. |
1:36.2 | Even needs to be said, but I'll try and say it anyway. I love this poem. One of the reasons that I love this poem is because it is such a vivid picture, both of having little and also of how deeply and passionately we come to treasure the simplest |
1:50.9 | things when we have very little. And that he paints this picture, Herbert does, without telling |
1:59.6 | us that she doesn't have very much, and without telling us that she |
2:03.9 | loves or values the thing that she's carrying. He doesn't have to. He paints this picture so |
2:09.1 | clearly just through the dramatic action of the poem. And he crowns it all with this sweet, tender, uh, narrative movement, this kind of |
2:27.4 | inclining forward of the speaker of the poem, right in the middle of the poem, uh, which he addresses |
... |
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