
TOMORROW THEY’LL CUT ME OPEN
She came and stood beside me.
I said: I’m ready.
I’m bedridden in the surgery clinic in Kraków,
tomorrow
they’ll cut me open.
I have many powers in me. I can live,
I can run, dance and sing.
TOMORROW THEY’LL CUT ME OPEN
She came and stood beside me.
I said: I’m ready.
I’m bedridden in the surgery clinic in Kraków,
tomorrow
they’ll cut me open.
I have many powers in me. I can live,
I can run, dance and sing.
It is not easy for a woman to be a poet, as the two roles or identities are not readily compatible in patriarchal culture. Even though it has been over a century since Edmond de Goncourt formulated his famous maxim “There are no women of genius; the women of genius are men”, the prejudice against female creativity persists and women poets still have to struggle for their art to be taken seriously.
The struggle must have been even harder for Anna Świrszczyńska who practiced her art – and yoga, and vegetarianism – in the rough reality of communist Poland. And yet she succeeded: she played both roles. Not only did she write serious poetry as a woman; her femininity was ostentatious, flamboyant and unapologetic. She wrote about love and sex. She wrote about the pain and joy of childbirth. But she also wrote about illness and aging.