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Kasimir Edschmid, forced to label the metaphysical consciousness of the reaction to impressionism in Berlin, stated in 1918:

The Expressionist poet does not see, he beholds. He does not describe, he experiences. He does not represent, he forms anew. He does not accept, he seeks. Now there is no longer a chain of facts: houses, factories, sickness, whores, screams and hunger. Now there is the VISION of these things. Facts are significant only in so far as the hand of the artist reaches through them to grasp what lies beyond. He sees what is human in a whore, what is divine in a factory. He weaves the individual phenomenon into that great pattern, which goes to make up the world. 1

By nature any such attempt to explain Expressionism betrays the spirit of the enterprise, but it is cast as part of a manifesto--the only genre which could impart the emergent, revolutionary character of the movement to what was an otherwise reflective, intellectual activity. "Facts" for Edschmid stood in the way of reality. In the face of the demonstrations of Wittgenstein and the Logical Positivists who would argue more and more that we could never know "things" but through "acts," the Expressionists sought to produce art which achieved its effect without any intellectual mediation or logical calculus. The Expressionists attempted to create pure "VISION"--sense perception in itself--and not the knowledge produced by vision.

Consider the most recognized emblem of Expressionism, Edward Munch's Der Schrei (1893)--a melting, almost amorphous humanlike figure, staring at the viewer through blank eyes, screaming into the night on a lonely country road, painted in stark colors and broad strokes. We might imagine that what we see in the image is what the figure sees through Munch's characteristically empty eye sockets. Without any realistic detail, we could not identify the figure or the place. The concentric bands of color in the image seem to emanate from the figure's mouth to the edge of the frame, and perhaps beyond. Der Schrei is not meant to represent a screaming person or even a person's scream, but actually to be a wrenching cry that evokes a human response.

I would like to look at Józef Wittlin's most visually and aurally striking work, his "Hymn nienawści" (Hymn of Hatred) from his most radical and adventurous period, the early 1920s when he was a featured poet and Lwów correspondent for the Poznań Expressionist magazine Zdrój (The Source). Zdrój was published by graphic artist, Jerzy Hulewicz, in Poznań and later Warsaw, sporadically from 1918 to 1922, and featured arresting and original two-color, halftone and in a few cases colored graphics, reproductions of works by Picasso, Matisse, Rodin and Van Gogh, poetry by Miriam, Tuwim, and Oskar Miłosz, fiction, translations from Rabindranath Tagore, Appolinaire, Keats and Swinburne, essays, reviews and artistic manifestos by Stanisław Przybyszewski, Jan Stur and others.

The "Hymn of Hatred" first appeared in Zdrój in 1919, and as far as I know this poem has not been reprinted since 1929 in the third edition of Wittlin's Hymny, nor has it been previously translated into English. Wittlin's poems in Zdrój are often quite different from later versions of the same works, particularly in their punctuation, but also in their diction, and there are cases where entire stanzas have been excised. The versions in Zdrój have a raw and immediate quality. In Zdrój he might have used three dashes--the hallmark of immature poet (and I use "immature" in the highest Gombrowiczean sense)--to indicate a pause that would later be moderated into a simple period. Or he might have used a common word like "górny" that would later become the more elevated "szczytny," 2 perhaps indicating a subtle leaning from the Expressionists' mystic mountain to neo-classical acme of the Skamander group.

Since Wittlin's early poems are so hard to come by in Polish and are virtually unknown English, with the exception of the translations included in Zoya Yurieff's monograph in the Twayne's World Author Series, I had considered offering a set of new translations rather than a theoretical analysis of Wittlin's work. As a compromise, I have decided to limit myself to this one work, the "Hymn of Hatred," and present a translation along with the earliest version of the original, and then weigh it in relation to the overall goals of Expressionism in poetry.

Hymn of Hatred
Oh no! I will not sing of love today, of what is sacred, angelic, and eternal, powerful
like God, like the immortal He.--I will not sing a hymn of love.
Oh yes! Oh yes! Hatred walks on our streets, snickers, hands on her
hips, totters like a drunk, like that ultimate streetwalker and spits in
the face of anyone who dares to live.
Both you and me.
And oh, how her blinkers blaze!
She saw the cross on a shrine's golden cupola and a torrent poured
down on it from her piercing eyes. And the cross rusted in shame and
blackened in offense.
Oh, how that once gold cross did turn black.
She cast an abusive word into the church, through the wide open
doors, and holy icons paled and heads turned in their halos, and the
host was covered in mold and spoiled
before it was brought before the people congregated in hunger for the
miracle of
Oh terrible defiled host!
Hatred walks on our streets...and when she spies a mother, a mother
carries the fetus of a child in her womb--the fetus has already turned
to vermin.--And the vermin
chew the maternal womb.
Oh, how awfully the vermin chew the mother's womb!...
And hatred bewitched an infant in its cradle,
touching it's shoulders--
And when the mother presses her child to her breast.
And when the mother kisses her infant's little mouth
--vile leprosy descends on her maternal visage.
Oh, how foully leprosy deformed the mother!
And when a boy walked down the street to buy his father bread, when
he was buying
the bread
--hatred gazing upon it--
the bread turned to poison--
The boy poisoned his father... Oh what bitter bread!...
And when a farmer walked his plough (with hatred tromping through
the field)
and hatred plunges into him
like an eagle's claw
her green gaze--black clods turn to sand, blowing yellow sand...
from barren work, comes barren waste--
and worthless, miserable toil...
As a young man walks in springtime through a whispering grove, some
dreamy scented night
When from the branches a nightingale sings its gentle trill
as hatred drifts in with the wind (coming from the nearby city, whence
she has her kingdom) through the crown of trees: there he proudly
grabs a stone, briskly hurls it--
right where that bird sings--
and kills it in the tree for its pretty song...
When hatred walks along a bank, wherever there is water, pure and
spring fresh water,
be it wellspring, be it river, or pool, or lake--
when a thirsty traveler
stops and wants to drink:
hatred turns his water muddy
(from the distant city's gutter--)
let him pour a drink, a drink of city streets,
He'd grow sick from that journey, and after every day he would curse
his god!...
As she comes upon a pasture
with a girl who tends her cattle
and plays a song
and sings a bit
on a so-called "field of glory,"
only ten years old--
she whispers words into her ear: and the girl flings off her wreath
and drives the cows into the rye.
And the landlord sees this sight,
flogs her with a willow switch
that she'd weave no more
any garland for her sweetheart, not from pansy, nor from cornflower,
nor from wild
And if you have a friend, a friend with faithful eyes,
(he'd follow you to death)--
hatred's just crept up beside him,
showing him her mug--
something grabs him from the side,
then he wants your reputation, all your money and your wife,
and sets your house on fire--
A house
Built with heavy labor.
And when in school a teacher
recites to children truths from books
and puts pious substance
with noble words into the hearts
of different fathers', mothers' children--,
hatred through the schoolroom window
from the little alley sprays in
doubting dust:
it makes the children's heads turn round
"God is great, God is good, love thy neighbor as ye should!"
So the teacher says.
At this the children laugh!
in the most horrific, impious, evil-hearted laugh!
--Later one boy cuts a sterile bitch's head (with a penknife blade)
--Then another throws a bird's eggs from it's shabby nest,
--and a little girl presses
a button for a penny in a
beggar's outstretched hat.
Then she takes a blind man's hand, looking for his home
and leads him purposefully along a precipitous trench.
And in her little heart she gladly
knocks the cane out from his hand
the blind man drops in the trench--
Władysław Skotarek
Z ulicy (From the Street), Władysław Skotarek - Zdrój 9:3, 51.
More graphics collected from the journal Zdrój (Source)

Hey, oh hey!
This potent lady keeps on going, archlicentious, wanton hussy,
this hatred just keeps going
in the streets and in the fields,
in the forests, over water
through the village and through the town
through mountains and meadows
and sows her venom.
She'll lie in wait wherever a farmhand's
lust for blood is roused:
then the farmhand takes a wheel and
(how oft he spied him with the
neighbor's buxom lass)
breaks his brother's leg-- --
even Cain would laugh!
Even Cain in his hell would split his sides with laughter!
She'll lie in wait wherever a soldier walks the Imperial road, and put
a knife into hand.
Soldier unsheaths bayonet,
A merchant steps out on the road
with his money belt--
lunge... and let the scoundrel soak in blood
while his children weep there, while his wife and mother weep
while his brother weeps--
oh hey! as the merchant wife and mother
as the merchant brother, sister
and his children weep...
But as she meets these many soldiers with their sabres,
with their rifles that pour down
a thick, abundant hail of leaden balls
(and powder that burns well),
so the soldiers, hearty peasants,
burn the village, storm the city:
have a good time, kick it up!
Dunda--dunda--hey get happy, swing your partner round the circle,
so they have some fun--
and there's hatred right there with them
jumping, stomping, skipping, leaping,
dancing until, hey!--
then she pours a peasant's vodka
down his fat and stringy neck,
peasant throws himself on peasant,
a spike into his brother's eye
innards slip out from his stomach,
--a well sharpened bayonet--
oh yes!
Then all the peasants, all the landlords
throw themselves upon each other
even granny, hey!
and hatred by the hand is leading
first the fiddle, then the bassist...
Swish it, pish it--dunda, dunda--
beats the measure, hums the tune--
and the landlords swing, and the peasants swing--

Hymn Nienawiści
O nie! Nie o miłości będę dzisiaj śpiewał, tej co jest święta, anielska, a
mocna jak Bóg, jak On nieśmiertelna. -- Nie o miłości będę śpiewał
O tak! O tak! Na ulicach naszych chadza nienawiść, chichoce, bierze
się pod boki, zatacza się jak pijana, jak ta ostatnia ulicznica i pluje w
twarz wszystkiemu, co waży się żyć.
I tobie i mnie.
A hy! Jak gorą jej ślepia!
Ujrzała krzyż na złoconej kopule świątnicy i lunęła nań bryzgiem
swych przeraźliwych ócz. I krzyż zardzewiał ze wstydu i poczerniał z
O hej! Jak czerni się złoty niegdyś krzyż!...
Rzuciła słowo zelżywe do wnętrza kościoła, przez rozwarte drzwi, a
święte obrazy pobladły i odwróciły głowy w aureolach, a hostja się pokryła
pleśnią i zgniła, zanim ją podniesiono przed zgromadzonym ludem,
cudu miłości łaknącym!...
O straszna hostji sromoto!
Na ulicach naszych chadza nienawiść... a gdy obaczy matkę, a matka w
żywocie dźwiga dziecka płód -- już płód się w robactwo przemienił. -- A robactwo łono macierzyńskie źre.
O hy! Jak ohydnie robactwo łono matki żre!...
A nienawiść niemowlę w kołysce urzekła,
potrąciła je ramieniem swem --
A gdy matka swą dziecinę do piersi przytula,
A gdy matka swe niemowlę w usteczka całuje
-- na oblicze macierzyńskie wstrętny wzejdzie trąd.
O hy! jak plugawy trąd matkę oszpecił!
A gdy chłopię szło ulicą kupić ojcu chleb, gdy kupiło chleb,
-- Gdy nienawiść nań popatrzy --
w trutkę zmieni chleb --
Chłopię ojca swego struło... O jak gorzki chleb!...
A gdy oracz szedł za pługiem (a nienawiść polem chadza)
a nienawiść weń zatopi
jakby orli szpon
swój zielony wzrok -- czarna gleba w piach się zmieni w lotny żółty
a jałowy trud, a jałowy plon --
a daremny, cierpiętliwy znój...
Gdy młodzieniec idzie wiosną w szumny cichy gaj, w senną, wonną noc --
z rosochatych drzew kiedy słowik swoje trele imie śpiewać przełagodnie --
gdy nienawiść wionie wiatrem (od bliskiego idąc miasta, kędy swoje
ma królestwo) przez zwieńczenie drzew: chwyci ów za kamień hardy,
zamaszyście go podrzuci -- tam
gdzie pieje ptak --
i ubije go na drzewie, że tak pięknie piał...
Gdy nienawiść przejdzie brzegiem, ówdzie woda jest, woda czysta i
kryniczna -- czy to źródło, czy to rzeka, czy ponik, czy staw --
gdy łaknący tam podróżnik
stanie, zechce pić:
wodę zmąci mu nienawiść
(szła kanałem hen od miasta --)
da mu zlewy pić, zlewy z wielkich miast,
by zachorzał ów przechodzień i po wszystkie dnie boga swego klął!...
Jak napotka na pastwisku
dziewczę które bydło pasie
i piosneczkę gra
i tak sobie pośpiewuje
na tak zwaną pańską chwałę,
a ma dziesięć lat --
szepnie jej do ucha słówko: i dziewczyna wianek rzuci
i zagoni bydło w żyto.
A obszarnik-pan to ujrzy,
prętem wikli ją wysmaga
by nie wiła już
ani wianka dla kochanka, ani z bratków, ni z bławatków ani z dzikich
A jeśli masz przyjaciela, a przyjaciel wierne oczy,
(pójdzie za cię w śmierć) --
już przypełznie doń nienawiść,
pokaże swój pysk --
już go chwyci coś pod bokiem,
już zapragnie twojej sławy, twych dukatów, twojej żony
i podpali dom --
Ciężkim trudem wyniesiony
A gdy w szkole nauczyciel
dzieciom prawdę głosi z książek
i szlachetnem słowem w serca
dzieci różnych ojców, matek
kładzie zbożną treść --,
oknem izby szkolnej sypnie
ulicznica ta, nienawiść
powątpienia proch:
dzieciom sprawi zawrót głowy,
"Bóg jest dobry, miłosierny, wy kochajcie się nawzajem!"
Mówi szkolnik ów.
Dzieci na to w śmiech!
w najstraszniejszy, bezlitosny, zło-szyderczy śmiech!
-- Potem jeden chłopak urwie małej suczce łeb (kozikiem od scyzoryka)
-- Potem drugi ptaszkom zrzuci jajka z nędznych gniazd,
-- a dziewczynka żebrakowi
ciśnie guzik w nastawioną
czapkę miasto grosz.
Potem ujmie rękę ślepca. [sic ","] co do domu chce
i prowadzi go umyślnie nad przepastny rów.
A w serduszku swem się cieszy,
kostur z dłoni mu wytrąci:
ślepiec wpadnie w rów --

Hej, o hej!
Idzie sobie władna pani, dziewka jurna, przerozpustna,
idzie sobie ta nienawiść
ulicami i polami,
i lasami i wodami
i skroś wiosek i skroś miast
i skroś gór i łąk
i sieje swój jad.
Jak nadybie gdzie parobka,
wzbudzi krwawą chuć:
już parobek swego brata
(ile że mu wypatruje
dziewkę hożą, sąsiadową)
kołem zwali z nóg -- --
by się Kain śmiał!
By się Kain w piekle swojem do rozpuku śmiał!
Jak nadybie gdzie żołnierza, na gościńcu, na cesarskim, w ręku da mu nóż.
Żołnierz bagnet z pochwy wyjmie,
Kupca co gościńcem kroczy
a ma złota trzos --
dźgnie... i juchą uposoczy
choć dziateczki tam zapłaczą, choć zapłacze żona, matka
choć zapłacze brat --
o hej! jak kupcowa żona, matka,
jak kupcowy brat i siostra
i dziateczki płaczą...
Lecz jak spotka onych wielu tych żołnierzy ze szablami,
z fuzyjami, które sypią
ołowianych kul gęsty, suty grad
(a proch dobrze tli)
tak żołnierze, chwackie chłopy
wsie podpalą, miasta zburzą:
pohulają se, zatańcują se!
Dunda -- dunda -- hej wesoło, dalej w tany, dalej w koło,
a radują się --
a nienawiść z nimi razem
skacze, tupie, hasa, pląsa,
tańcuje aż hej --
potem chłopom wódkę wleje
w gardła grube i żylaste
a chłop rzuci się na chłopa,
oko bratu swemu kole,
kiszki z brzucha mu wypuszcza,
-- dobrze bagnet wyostrzony --
a tak!
Potem rzucą się na siebie
wszystkie chłopy, wszystkie pany
nawet baby, hej!
a nienawiść w ręce weźmie
raz skrzypeczki, raz basetlę...
Husia, siusia -- dunda, dunda --
takt wybija, podśpiewuje --
a pany się rżną, a chłopy się rżną --

A hymn is traditionally a song of praise. Thus the title contains the poem's first shocking irony, in that Hatred could hardly be an object of praise. The genre of hymn, however, is quite suited as a speech act to the objectives of Expressionism. To recite a hymn is to bestow a feeling onto an object, rather than to represent the object. A hymn might contain description, but it addresses its object, typically a deity, directly. The description does not serve to inform an audience of the qualities of the deity, which are already well known, but rather to magnify those qualities in the mind of the speaker as preparation for an exuberant injunction of praise. In this hymn, however, the images are horrifying and the exuberant injunctions express terror.

As in a cycle of woodcuts, a favorite medium of the Expressionists, each image is cast in a few broad lines. In this form, Wittlin does not have time to dwell on detail. In each case we see a peaceful scene, we are informed, sometimes parenthetically, that Hatred has been there, we are then presented with the destruction that Hatred has caused. Hatred particularly likes to upset processes of creation: motherhood, pregnancy, the planting of fields, the building of a house. Each scene closes with an exclamation: "Ah hy! Jak gorą jej ślepia!" or "O straszna hostji sromoto!" or "O hy! Jak ohydnie robactwo łono matki żre!..." As in the traditional hymn, the speaker recounts the deity's action and bursts into spontaneous emotion.

The eyes are Hatred's instruments of action. Eyes are particularly challenging to render in a woodcut, but even in many Expressionist drawings and paintings, in which detail could be rendered more precisely, the eyes appear as empty holes. Munch's eyes are often white and oversized, like Hatred's, depicted as the blazing eyes of an animal. They do not passively absorb light, but they beam light back at the spectator or reader. Like the artist's eyes, the eyes of the characteristic Expressionist subject do not perceive fine details, but are themselves expressive organs that transform the object at which they are directed.

The Expressionist image is iconic rather than realistic. When Hatred first appears at the church, Wittlin presents us with a confrontation of icons. Hatred stands outside, framed by the "wide open doors." The distinctive feature of an icon is its uniform and immobile quality, signifying that wherever we the viewers stand, beyond the frame lies a spiritual plane where the saints stand in their own perspective. In Wittlin's hymn, Hatred "casts an abusive word" through the frame, causing the characteristically static icons inside to "pale" and "turn their heads in their halos."

At the same time, however, the poem attempts to address a cluster of distinct social crises. The facts that Kasimir Edschmid lists in his manifesto "houses, factories, sickness, whores, screams and hunger," are all phenomena associated with distinct political and economic forces in 1918, like war, rapid industrialization and urbanization. Wittlin iconizes all these forces in the image of Hatred. What clearer representation is there, after all, of the conflict between the country and the city, so often exploited by the architects of modern war, than the scene of the murder of the urban merchant by the peasant soldier? The city is where Hatred "has her Kingdom," but Wittlin does not portray the peasants in a state of idyllic purity. Wittlin seems perfectly aware of the economic contradictions that put these two social icons, town merchant and rural soldier, at odds, and attempts to resolve it by humanizing them, following the soliloquy of Shakespeare's famous merchant, showing that a "merchant" family still weeps at human loss, and proposing that the soldier is not inherently evil, but is somehow corrupted by Hatred's gaze.

What, then, exactly is "Hatred"? While the Expressionists in general were confronting the theme of alienation in the face of industrialization, urbanization and mass culture, Wittlin's poem suggests that these social phenomena are not the evil in themselves so much as they are the ground from which evil sprouts. Hatred is like a kind of pollution that pours out of the city sewers, poisoning everything that comes into contact with it. The implicit assumption is then that individuals may be inherently good, but they are universally susceptible to corruption, and that corruption is inescapable, because the city cannot prevent the leakage of its own decadence. Those who are socially "against" the city are just as much formed by it. The socioeconomic context becomes a structure in which acts of Hatred can play themselves out.

The poem ends in linguistic collapse. Much like Julian Tuwim's greatest but most uncharacteristic work, "Bal w operze" (The Ball at the Opera), the poem is a rhythmic funnel, starting from its diffuse opening apostrophe:

Oh no! I will not sing of love today, of what is sacred, angelic,
and eternal, powerful like God, like the immortal He.--I will
sing a hymn of love.

through run-on lines with an internal four-beat structure, suggesting the rhythm to come:

As a young man walks in springtime through a whispering grove,
some dreamy scented night
When from the branches a nightingale sings its gentle trill
as hatred drifts in with the wind (coming from the nearby city,
whence she has her kingdom) through the crown of trees:

and finally to the regular dance rhythm of the four-beat line punctuated by the three-beat cadence:

Dunda--dunda--hey get happy, swing your partner round the circle,
and they have some fun--
and there's hatred right there with them
jumping, stomping, skipping, leaping,
dancing until hey--

This increasing regularity of rhythm results in ever greater emphasis on arrhythmic lines, such as the untranslatable line, "a tak!" nine lines from the end, which not only means "Oh, yes!" as I have rendered it, but is also a homophone of "attack!" signaling the final catastrophe. Diction slips further and further into vulgarity and peasant dialect with forms like "pohulają se, zatańcują se!" We move from motherhood to pastoral to battle to a drunken orgy of soldiers and peasants. Static scenes formerly viewed from a distance turn active, as the language suggests an unsignaled change of voice from the initial narrator to the soldiers and peasants, and finally to Hatred herself. Meaningful words are replaced by nonsense syllables. Action moves from description of Hatred's past deeds to the present, when we may recognize that even the poem's speaker has been drawn into the orgiastic dance, and having been gazed upon by Hatred, the poet's classical mission to create beauty is subverted.

What begins as a cycle of images, rough-hewn representations like woodcuts, dissolves in an attempt to body forth the thing represented. If the dominant style of Polish postwar poetry is said to be reflective and intellectual, Wittlin's early work immediately following the First World War is exactly the opposite. Wittlin's object here is not to bring about reflection on evil from a distance, but to conjure its physical presence in the body of the reader drawn into the dance. Rhythm replaces description, moving the area of the poem's effect from the mind to the body, leaving the reader with a sense of aftershock following the final line, at the recognition of having been "led by the hand" with the fiddler and the bassist, laying out our common weakness to the influence of Hatred who slips in imperceptibly, like a noxious gas.

1Quoted from "Expressionismus in der Dichtung," Der Neue Rundschau, 29:1 (1918), p. 364, by Heinrich Eduard Jacob, "Pre-war Writing and the Atmosphere in Berlin," in Paul Raabe, ed., The Era of German Expressionism, tr. J. M. Ritchie, (Woodstock, N.Y.: Overlook Pr., 1974), 19.
2Both examples come from the "Hymn niepokoju, obłędu i nudy" (Hymn of Disquiet, Madness and Boredom).


Edvard Munch - Krzyk
Edvard Munch, Krzyk (Scream)

David A. Goldfarb poddaje analizie pierwszy okres twórczości Wittlina, okres w którym Wittlin wsółpracował z poznańskim czasopismem literackim Zdrój. Wittlinowskie związki z poznańskim ekspresjonizmem, oraz ogólny, jak twierdzi Goldfarb, radykalny i eksperymentalny charakter twórczości Wittlina w początkowej fazie są podstawą analizy wczesnej poezji Wittlina. Goldfarb koncentruje swoją uwagę na utworze najściślej jego zdaniem związanym z estetyką ekspresjonizmu pt. Hymn Nienawiści, opublikowanym w Zdroju w 1919 r. Opierając się na fragmencie poetyckiego manifestu ekspresjonistycznego Kasimira Edschmida, Goldfarb traktuje przedstawione w nim założenia ekspresjonistycznej estetyki jako bezpośredni kontekst i punkt odniesienia dla analizy Hymnu Nienawiści. Koncepcja "czystej wizji" czyli próba uchwycenia istoty samego procesu odbioru, nie zakłóconego pośrednictwem zmysłów fizycznej percepcji, jest podstawą analizy Hymnu Nienawiści (przytoczonego tak w oryginale jak i w przekładzie samego autora artykułu) jako utworu ilustrującego te koncepcje. Wittlin, zdaniem autora, koncentruje się na zmyśle wizji i manipuluje wizualnymi elementami utworu w celu zgłębienia natury samej percepcji sięgającej poza limity faktologicznej wiedzy dostarczanej nam poprzez fizyczne zmysły. Zjawisko wizji było eksploatowane przez ekspresjonistów. Goldfarb porównuje wizualne elementy Hymnu Nienawiści ze sztuką plastyczną tego okresu (przytacza przykład Krzyku Edwarda Muncha), w szczególności zaś z charakterystycznymi cechami drzeworytu -- gatunkiem sztuk pięknych szczególnie reprezentacyjnym dla estetyki ekspresjonizmu. Autor sugeruje także, iż sama forma poetycka utworu -- hymn -- jest przez Wittlina wykorzystana w celach pogłębienia wrażenia bezpośredniej, pozaintelektualnej percepcji. Do formalnych elementów pełniących w utworze tą samą funkcję, Goldfarb zalicza rytm i leksykę Hymnu Nienawiści. W toku analizy autor sugeruje, iż zarówno rytm jak i leksyka służą stopniowemu przekształceniu wittlinowskiej metody prezentacji: opis staje się bezpośrednim przeżyciem, co pociąga za sobą zmianę pozycji czytelnika z postronnego obserwatora w bezpośredniego uczestnika narracji i jednocześnie materializuje zjawisko percepcji. Oprócz opisu realizacji koncepcji "czystej wizji" w Hymnie Nienawiści, artykuł poświęca dużo uwagi analizie socjalnego zaangażowania utworu i interpretuje je jako jeszcze jeden, tym razem czysto tematyczny, związek z ideologią ekspresjonizmu.


Rozdział książki: Between Lvov, New York, and Ulysses' Ithaca: Józef Wittlin - Poet, Essayist, Novelist, ed. by Anna Frajlich. Toruń-New York 2001 - Archiwum Emigracji T.10.

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Data ostatniej modyfikacji: 2003-02-28 10:38