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Bio/biblio-graficznie

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Schulz/Forum
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2020
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issue 15
174-186
PL
The easiest option would be to ask the author of The Cinnamon Shops whether it was him who many years ago wrote in German and published in the Montenegro periodical Cetinjer Zeitung two stories: “Du bist Staub” and “Pfennig mit dem Auge.” Had he said “yes,” these two unusual narratives would be included in the oeuvre of Bruno Schulz. His literary identity would have been upheld (enhanced) and confirmed. But what is the literary identity? We know full well that the foundation of an individual identity is memory which selects and integrates the particles of a particular existence. There is no identity without memory. This, however, does not apply to the literary identity, deprived of that natural basis of each identity, both individual and collective. Its foundation is congruence, i.e. the coherence, harmony, and appropriateness of its components. Trouble begins when all of a sudden we come across a text signed with a name that already exists in the literary space, and this is exactly what happened when after one hundred years two German language stories from the Cetinjer Zeitung have been retrieved. An automatic inclusion of the stories in the literary identity signed “Bruno Schulz” seems risky for many reasons. First of all, because some stranger may invade the space occupied by the son of a Drogobych cloth merchant, the actual author of The Cinnamon Shops. Let us then defend the Schulz of Drogobych from the Schulzes who come from different parts of the world, and they are many. In the first three decades of the 20th century those were, e.g., Karl Richard Bruno Schulz (1865-1932, professor of architecture), Bruno Claus Heinrich Schulz (1888-1944, oceanographer), Bruno Schulz (engineer, fleet officer), Bruno Schulz (1890-1958, psychiatrist, genetician), Bruno Kurt Schultz (1901-1997, anthropologist, in the Third Reich an SS “race” expert), and Bruno Schultz (1894-1987, economist).
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Autor nie w pełni zdefiniowany?

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EN
With Schulz we are always in trouble. Specifying his literary identity is often not so easy. It is as though he was still not fully defined, which, however, does not mean that he is an author “without qualities.” On the contrary, it is enough to read two sentences and one is absolutely sure – they must have been written by “Schulz.” Perhaps the ambiguity of his image has been caused by his alleged timidity and complexes – as a human being, Schulz often used disguises and took misleading routes. In result, he misled his contemporaries and then the subsequent generations of scholars. Since he concealed his actual literary debut behind the penname of Marceli Weron, for almost a century those who wrote about The Cinnamon Shops were obliged to believe in a more or less mythologized version of his apprenticeship as a writer. The discussions about Marceli Weron, author of the newly found short story “Undula,” are not over yet and new questions and dilemmas have appeared. The name and surname of “Bruno Schulz,” printed under two German language stories from 1917 and 1918, found by Piotr Szalsza in a periodical titled Cetinjer Zeitung, leaves no doubts but still we do not know to whom it belonged: to the future author of Cinnamon Shops or perhaps someone else? Weron dissimulated – his name referred to personal emptiness, by no means leading to the son of a Drogobych cloth merchant. A connection between the text and the author could be established only thanks to the unmistakably “Schulzean” style, but both war stories signed with the name “Bruno Schulz” do not anticipate the pattern we know from “Undula” and then The Cinnamon Shops. We have the first opinions of experts and they are not unanimous. No wonder. It is impossible to resolve the question of authorship only in reference to the text. Indeed, the stories are signed by “Bruno Schulz,” which means that some Bruno Schulz must have written them, but to whom did the signature belong?
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Cień Unduli

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PL
In Bruno Schulz’s archive no aisle can be said in advance to be a dead end one. It is enough to take a step ahead and there it is. All of a sudden, the space opens up and we can see in the aisle Undula’s fleeting shadow, yet to see her one must first meticulously (and with hope) peruse the faded pages of the fortnightly Świt, a tribune of the oil industry officials from the town of Borysław. Lesya Khomych, a young scholar from Drogobych, has earned our profound respect. She discovered an unknown story by Bruno Schulz, titled „Undula,” published in 1922 under a mysterious penname „Marceli Weron,” and now we must modify many opinions about the writer’s debut which allegedly happened a decade later. So far, it has been believed that before the 1930s he was publishing his stories in the letters addressed to female friends and one male one. Undula casts her shadow on Schulz and the Schulzean field. Her unexpected appearance has put the author as a human being in her shadow. Under our eyes the writer lost a duel with a character that he himself created. For a while, Schulz as a prisoner of his body ceased to be important, particularly for several critics who wrote essays to be published in Schulz/Forum. As a result of the interest in Undula, one of the vexing questions of literary studies – the suspicious „and” that connects the author with his or her work – has been suspended for some time. But even suspended, the problem does not disappear or solve itself. Facing it, Ferrari and Nancy have formulated their answer with impressive bravado: “The author is … deduced from the work. … There is nothing in him or her that cannot be found in the work and the other way round. … It is not that the author produces the work, but on the contrary: the work produces the author.” What author do they mean? Certainly not the one that has been imprisoned in his or her body and not the one who will sooner or later die. Ferrari and Nancy have in mind the author “who cannot be present elsewhere but in the work,” which means that he or she is immortal. But one must not get confused. The field of terms must not be abandoned without struggle – a hasty surrender is out of the question. After all, the author has a body, a biological one, even if he or she persistently hides it from the world (i.e. from the readers). The absent and inaccessible author is replaced by his or her images rooted not just in the work, as Ferrari and Nancy want it, but also, and above all, in the body. But the author’s iconography exists also as a counter-discourse: in descriptions offered by the witnesses of his or her life, in memories, in general in all the written documents which shed some counter-light on the author’s work (and the author in the work). Consequently, as usual the word (of the work) stands opposite the word (of the biographical testimony).
Schulz/Forum
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2012
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issue 1
95-102
PL
The article aims to present a critical project of publishing the literary and artistic works by Bruno Schulz in a uniform edition. Few readers realize that Schulz’s fiction exists in two editorial versions: the anonymous Cracow edition (published several times since 1957) and the Wrocław edition (prepared by Jerzy Jarzębski for the National Library series in 1989). The differences between them are not essential, but they call for a critical intervention which is not an easy task. The choice of all Schulz’s editors are is in fact limited to the first editions from the 1930s since the manuscripts of the stories have been lost. No proper editorial basis makes it difficult to verify texts published in the book versions. In discussions about different variants, the frame of reference should be a corpus of texts of undisputed authenticity, including the surviving correspondence of the writer, edited and published by Jerzy Ficowski as The Book of Letters in 1975 (later editions in 2002 and 2008), although Ficowski’s edition must be amended by comparison with the available originals of the letters. A critical edition of Schulz’s fiction must also take into consideration the versions of stories published first in periodicals and restore the author’s version of the first editions combining the text with illustrations. In general, in a critical edition Schulz-the writer cannot be separated from Schulz-the artist. Therefore, the complete edition of Schulz’s works should include his art works, too. They have been subject to research many times, but still no reliable complete presentation is available. The previous editions contain some false information and dating; often the “museum” titles have been accepted as if they had been given by Schulz himself, one and the same work has been listed with different sizes, the colors of reproduction differ from those of the original, etc. The final result of new research must be a critical edition of Schulz’s works in several volumes: I. Cinnamon Shops; II. Sanatorium under the Sign of the Hourglass; III. Uncollected Works; IV. The Book of Letters; V. Critical Essays; VI. The Book of Idolatry; VII. Paintings and Drawings (in two or three volumes).
Schulz/Forum
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2012
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issue 1
121-132
PL
Bruno Schulz placed both of his collections of short stories with “Rój” Publishers. Its 1938 catalogue, designed by Mieczysław Berman (some of the “Schulz” pages are reproduced in the present issue), sums up the publishing achievement of “Rój” as a kind of the press’ last self-portrait. Next to notes on the published books, it includes many illustrations – drawings and photos – as well as portraits of authors, whose arrangement reveals the contemporary literary hierarchy. The largest is the portrait of the President of Polish Academy of Literature (6.7 × 11 cms), the smallest the effigies of those Polish writers who made their debut with “Rój” (one size fits all: 4 × 3.3 cms). In this section, one may find a photo of Schulz, next to those of Jerzy Andrzejewski, Marian Buczkowski, Pola Gojawiczyńska, Witold Gombrowicz, Teodor Parnicki, Sergiusz Piasecki, Adolf Rudnicki, Maria Ukniewska, and Adam Ważyk. The catalogue of “Rój” documents a certain segment of Polish literature, allowing one to determine Schulz’s place in the overall hierarchy. Actually, it was much higher than we might think. Resumed in the 1950s and 1960s, the discourse on Schulz did not discover a writer who had been unknown, but restored his position in Polish literature, which dated back to the 1930s. Significantly, Schulz achieved his high status relatively quickly, in only four years.
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Forum schulzowskie w budowie

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PL
A periodical devoted exclusively to Bruno Schulz – his life and work – should have been founded long ago. This Polish language writer of Jewish descent, born in now Ukrainian Drogobych, has been easily crossing the barriers of more and more languages. Seventy years after his death, Schulz keeps attracting more and more readers, connecting generations internationally. It is indeed high time for the expanding “international” of professional Schulz buffs to have their forum that will provide a congenial meeting place and a space of continuing dialogue. There is no reason for the global debate about Schulz to go on according to the rhythm of anniversaries. Continuous cooperation of Schulz experts may result in several joint projects. Such a collective effort is now necessary, first of all to take another critical look at the surviving literary and artistic Schulz archive to put it in order and at last publish his Collected Works. Schulz’s biography is also still full of secrets. It is not only the work of the Book’s author, but also his life that is still a challenge and a task. The third field of interest for the Schulz/Forum should be this strange and hybrid construct which is called Schulz studies. It seems that our discipline should also take a critical look at itself, start putting in order its domain, and introduce some procedures of testing and validating discourses about Schulz, which keep disseminating like the weeds he so often described in his fiction.
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Dotknięcia historii

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PL
Bruno Schulz did not live in “good times,” but still history shows up in his legend and biography just once, as the Holocaust of which he was a victim. All his earlier life has been usually described as a relatively quiet existence in a small, provincial town forgotten by history. This is very misleading. Schulz personally experienced a lot of what the unquiet 20th century had in store. Without much effort, one may assemble a fairly long list of historical events that determined the course of his life, such as the bloody election campaign to the Austro-Hungarian Parliament of June 19, 1911 or the mass escape in 1914. After the Great War, Schulz’s world slowly came back to normal. Demons woke up again in the 1930s. Do the historical events discussed in the texts included in the present Schulz/Forum issue point to some biographical constant that was influencing Schulz’s choices? Or perhaps, like Zbigniew Herbert’s Mr Cogito, Schulz chose to play a minor part on the stage of history?
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Schulz poza czasem

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EN
Schulz did not dwell in history. He lived apart from society, limiting his social contacts and giving them ritual forms. Generations of Polish Schulz scholars have seen him predominantly as an artist, an exceptional, unique writer, a “master of the Polish language,” while the Jewish diaspora has been approaching him in a very different way, mainly as a “symbol of the Holocaust and the loss that it caused.” These conflicting points of view point to a gap between art (literature) and history (biography). Schulz brought both domains together. He attempted to find and adopt a form of living in history and art that would let him keep at least some independence from the former. He believed that in writing or drawing it was possible to start “from oneself.” His artistic and literary works reveal a continuous endeavor to escape from history, if only in art. Was that possible at all? Can an artist escape from history, resist the power of temporality? The present essay is an attempt to address these questions. As a draughtsman, Schulz can hardly be placed in his epoch: he neither belongs to it, nor can be reduced to its norms. Except for his commissioned works, his oeuvre exists out of time, out of the artistic tradition, in three different genres: self-portrait, illustration, and compulsive drawing. It is characteristic that almost all his works from the third group are sketches. They seem to have no history, existing out of time and beyond the received conventions. Schulz’s sketch is a graphic gesture rather than an artistic activity. Whenever he tooka pen and a sheet of paper, he was everywhere and nowhere, always and never; out of time, imprisoned only in his present emotion. What is art for then? Under such circumstances, the major artistic controversies of the epoch seem irrelevant because something else is at stake. Schulz wanted to abolish the boundary between the draughtsman and the drawn, disappear in the act of creation, make that fact a fact of life. Does the literary work of the draughtsman follow the same principle? The final part of the essay is an argument for this hypothesis.
PL
The paper is an extended comment on Marian Jachimowicz’s “Reminiscence of Bruno Schulz.” On the basis of ample unpublished archive materials, the author reconstructs Jachimowicz’s biography, paying the most attention to the period of 1938–1942, when Jachimowicz as an aspiring man of letters had close friendly contacts with Schulz as well as other artists and writers of the Drogobych and Borysław region, known as the “Borysław Poetry Zone” (Marek Zwillich, Anna Płockier, Henryk Wiciński, Juliusz Wit, Artur Rzeczyca, and others). It turns out that his relationship with Schulz was a formative literary experience for the young poet. As he admits, it was thanks to the access to Schulz’s library and his recommendations, that he came across the books by poets who became important for his own development. Meeting Schulz was also important for another reason: he was the first “great artist” whom Jachimowicz met in person, knowing his literary works – Cinnamon Shops and A Sanatorium under the Sign of the Hourglass – and appreciating them highly. Jachimowicz’s attitude to Schulz was ambiguous, and this is what the present paper is mainly about. Starting with an analysis of an unpublished “source reminiscence” of 1948, the author approaches its subsequent versions published in journals (Twórczość, 1958 and Poezja, 1966). It was characteristic for Jachimowicz that his imagination and memory, fixed upon Schulz for several decades, pictured the Drogobych writer as “approaching.” Particularly in the first version of his text, Jachimowicz describes Schulz’s physique, doing it in a shockingly brutal, even abjectal, way. On the other hand, his essays demonstrate a more and more intense tone of mourning. The world of Drogobych and Borysław, to which both Jachimowicz and Schulz belonged before the war, appears in them as an irrevocably lost Arcadia, the only reality where the former did not feel all alone.
Schulz/Forum
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2019
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issue 13
155-171
PL
Indexing Schulz’s fiction is a joyful activity, which is easy to realize. Whoever has not tried it yet, definitely should. Those who do not wish to give it a try must draw satisfaction from reading the following reports and explanations: (1) Indexing is an active way of approaching a text, in particular a literary work which nowadays is rarely supplemented with an index. It is something more than just reading, although without perusing a text first, it is impossible to do it. Indexing is an attempt to spread over the perused text a network that consists of the elements which come from it. An index is a kind of map: it reflects the text, and consequently the world in the text, which means that it can function as a guide; (2) A crucial problem is that indexing is an activity on the borderline separating the represented world and the language which represents it. This borderline is very often fluid and indefinite, hence misleading. The indexer must continually return to the fundamental question whether he or she refers to the thing or to the word which names it (and creates it in literature); (3) The indexer’s starting point is always the textum. Moving word by word, the indexer slowly turns into a spokesperson of the represented world, by self-appointment representing the interest of the literary being. Indexing that grows out of reading is a proto-interpretation. Thus, in indexing a bias (and a sense of commitment) are natural and even desirable since they make it possible to come up with a “hypothesis of the hidden whole of the work” which, close to the text, starts to organize reading and work on the index; (4) If indexing is to be something more than just making a register of linguistic forms which are evidently present in the textum, but tries to reach further, beyond words (and particularly to the world which goes beyond itself), it should take into consideration a state which may be called the state of ontological ebullition. It encompasses both the represented world and the passages between that world and the textum – the act of its creation and the act of the reader’s transgression of that creation at the moments when, to use Schulz’s metaphor, “it diffuses beyond its boundaries.” The indexes allow us to identify those passages as they atomize the textum, dividing the literary tissue into single fibers. This means that the object of indexing is not only the textum and the represented world, but also, and perhaps even in the first place, the writer’s imagination which stations (and rules) on the borderline between words and things.
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PL
Both drawings (the one from the first page of the fascicle and the other from the outer side of the cover) show two degrees, two stages of the decomposition of form. In the same process, bodies lose their integrity. They were shown by Schulz as a series of leaping aspects which are disconnected, hence discontinuous. The drawings were made in the 1930s. The beginning of the draughtsman’s development did not anticipate such a great catastrophe of bodily forms. In his works from the second and in part also third decade of the 20th century Schulz defined human figures precisely and unambiguously. Then, however, the proud poses which he took when drawing himself (e. g., in his narcissistic Lvov portrait) or other figures (Budracka or Weingarten) probably could not be repeated. In the final decade of his life (and artistic activity) Schulz was drawing differently, perhaps because he perceived himself and the others in a different way. The body? The draughtsman presents it as just a cluster of vibrating lines. A self-portrait? It is possible only as a psychological study, an exaggerated caricature that stresses individual traits or an icon of oneself (the big head with a hat on top, a small size). In hundreds of compulsive sketches drawn in the 1930s even those principles were not respected any more. The bodies that Schulz drew then, no matter if it was his own body or someone else’s, often approach a boundary behind which there is only trembling. Displacement and movement. Schulz’s sketches do not search for form. They are testimonies of its destruction or maybe better, its palpitation, solution and scattering. For the eye, the body is a phenomenon of the surface. It is only the reduction of distance in an act of love (or aggression) or even a common handshake that change that state. Perhaps then the problem of Schulz’s representation of the body is reduced to perception. The drawn body has no smell or weight (or taste – it is not “meaty”). One cannot even touch it. A hand that makes an attempt to touch naked women, who in Schulz’s drawings take majestic and provocative poses, touches only a sheet of paper. The drawn body exists just for the eye. Thus the last chance for the existing body is keeping its surface. Why is it then that the body from Schulz’s late drawings loses its integrity, why does it so often fall apart under our eyes? What is the body for Schulz-the draughtsman and Schulz-the writer? How does he experience his own corporeality? How does he see himself? How do others see him?
Schulz/Forum
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2015
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issue 5
113-122
PL
In the age of technological reproductibility the original of The Booke of Idolatry has disappeared under more and more replicas. We have been talking and writing about reproductions which are more and more distant from the original: reflections, reflexes, copies, representations, and effigies. Until today, the whole cycle of Schulz’s cliché-verres has not been published in an adequate form – there are only more successful reproductions of particular graphics. At any rate, the identity of The Booke has always been precarious and ambiguous. It has always been a work in motion – flickering, unstable, composed in various ways since particular graphics have appeared in different authorial configurations (files) each of which lead its own, independent life. Thus The Booke of Idolatry has its multiple history and no “hard” ontology. As a whole, it is not available. Still, the trouble with it begins already at the elementary level of an individual graphic. The differences among available copies have been caused by technological conditions (different chemical processing of the positives), which bring about specific material (different pace of ageing) as well as artistic consequences (replicating his cliché-verres, Schulz would choose either a sepia or a silver-black tone). As a result, different prints of the same graphic look different, which implies contingency of seeing and, what follows, also of understanding and interpretation. We may encounter The Booke of Idolatry only in its specific historical version, by coming across its individual copy. A comparison of a dozen or so preiconographic descriptions (or perhaps testimonies of looking/seeing) of the same copy of Mademoiselle Circe and Her Troupe reveals a fundamental diversity of views. Is it possible to have a debate on meaning without a consensus as regards what we can see? Is a pact concerning a visible object of the debate made (or perhaps not made?) in passing, while we interpret it in a joint effort to find its meaning?
Schulz/Forum
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2015
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issue 5
123-132
PL
A comparison of a dozen or so preiconographic descriptions (or perhaps testimonies of looking/seeing) of the same copy of Mademoiselle Circe and Her Troupe reveals a fundamental diversity of views. Is it possible to have a debate on meaning without a consensus as regards what we can see? Is a pact concerning a visible object of the debate made (or perhaps not made?) in passing, while we interpret it in a joint effort to find its meaning?
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Odcięcie. Siedem fragmentów

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Schulz/Forum
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2016
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issue 7
25-64
PL
The text consists of seven fragments which in different ways refer to a central category of separation; in particular to masochism, one of its manifestations. First, however, separation reveals itself in an imaginary act of self-castration (in a dream), described by Schulz in a letter. This act locates the writer beyond the sexes, symbolically excludes him from biological support of the stream of life and directs to art. Schulz considered that irreversible passage from biological reproduction to artistic creation a grave sin. The masochistic separation became a topic of many graphic works and drawings in which the artist, as an icon of himself, paid homage to “la belle dame sans merci.” His literary works are quite different – Schulz’s fiction is marked by shame. The present essay demonstrates how the literary discourse of the Cinnamon Shops generates meaningful gaps. Allusions and silence, all kinds of narrative suspension, were supplemented by Schulz with pictorial representations, according to a principle that what cannot be written about, may be drawn. Many of his graphic works are overt manifestoes of masochism. In the Booke of Idolatry these are emblematic representations, projections of the artist’s own phantasms, based on the visual idiom of the times, while in the compulsive drawings from the 1930s the boundary between fantasy and reality blurs. Schulz’s artistic operations are ostentatious. He never used any disguise, reporting on himself. He was a masochist, but what did it mean? Another fragment is an attempt to find out what it meant to be a masochist in Schulz’s times, and how he defined himself in that context, particularly in an explicit statement made in a letter to a certain psychiatrist: “Creatively, I express this perversion in its loftiest, philosophically interpreted form as a foundation determining the total Weltanschauung of an individual in all its ramifications.” The final fragment presents for the most part some hitherto unknown documents of Schulz’s life, such as a police certificate of decency, men’s second-hand reports on his masochism, and memories of women with whom the writer held various kinds of liaisons.
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Masochizmy

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PL
The editorial opens with a firm statement that a single masochism does not exist, which can be proved by theories and works of such psychiatrists and philosophers as Freud, Reik, Lacan or Deleuze. It also presents how the masochism of Bruno Schulz has so far been discussed and interpreted by distinguished Schulzologists and underlines that a new reading of his works as well as testimonies made by the “hidden witnesses” of writer’s life is needed.
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Nieobecna obecność

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Schulz/Forum
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2013
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issue 2
103-112
PL
The essay is an attempt to describe and interpret three recently discovered photographs taken on October 2, 1938 during the so-called “anti-aircraft and anti gas defense week” organized by the paramilitary League for Anti-Aircraft and Anti-Gas Defense. In each of the photos one can hardly notice Bruno Schulz hidden among about a dozen people. Accident is a mixed blessing for photography. Sometimes a camera aimed at an object that attracted the photogra-pher’s interest and was his or her main target accidentally fixes something more, some un-planned excess of the visible. Standing in the background, in all the pictures Schulz is located at the same point, taking the same pose, and with the same facial expression. He has no inter-action with other members of the photographed group. A series of photos, taken in Drohobych many years ago and now published for the first time, supports a common claim that Schulz was not particularly sociable. Yet in none of the known photographs he looks so withdrawn and hidden, so remote and inaccessible – virtually absent. He could be a symbol of perfect alienation. His position was determined by the necessity to be and by his inability to be among others. Thus he is not an “exemplar of the inferiority complex” (Barańczak), driven by the “dream … of self-annihilation” (Sandauer). Schulz constitutes himself beyond any social frame of reference. The principles of his existence are isolation and distance. So much (and so little) tell us the photographs.
Schulz/Forum
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2014
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issue 4
53-74
PL
Schulz’s work has reached us in fragments. We do not know a large part of what he wrote and drew. But Schulz is also a “writer without an archive,” which is why he seems to be so mature and accomplished from the very outset of his career – with no “at first” and “then,” no beginning and end. In such a context, all his available manuscripts are particularly important. The present essay is an attempt to examine/describe Schulz’s writing (écriture) on the basis of the manuscript of “A Second Autumn.” Its six pages, compared with a version published in Kamena and the one included in Sanatorium under the Sign of an Hourglass, must stand for the whole lost archive. An analysis of the changes and corrections allows us to reveal the actual process of writing. Thanks to Schulz’s comments, we may place it in his biography: he has just gained success and knows that another book should follow, but in his letters he keeps complaining on a writer’s block. The only way out is to publish something already written, and fortunately there is something in store. Thus Schulz begins to work on the texts penned in the 1920s. He must only, as he puts it, “choose, finish, edit, and rewrite” them. The manuscript of “A Second Autumn” is a document of rewriting – in a way, the author is a parasite on his own work. Still, working on his old texts, Schulz believes that he is a traitor not only of himself, but also of the original inspiration. Once inspired, he must become a writer and becomes one, though he must change his method. A return to the innocence and disinterestedness of the 1920s is impossible. Under the pressure of external circumstances, Schulz begins a new epoch in his writing. The lost Messiah was probably intended as its center. Some of Schulz’s essays from that period reveal a poetics that is different from his original one. That other, different poetics may be called a poetics of “making the myth real,” of a “biological semantics.” The manuscript of “A Second Autumn” demonstrates the decline of the former way of writing.
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Zachwyt Ficowskiego

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PL
Schulz studies were born of rapture. In 1943 Jerzy Ficowski wrote a short study on Bruno Schulz, bound it, and titled it Regions of Great Heresy. That event can be now called the founding act of Schulz studies. Commenting on his work many years later, Ficowski realized that its permanent element was his rapture and the title to be assigned to more and more comprehensive versions of his early study. Schulz had attracted the critics’ interest already before, but the early critical reviews were all in one way or another involved in current literary debates in which Schulz represented the “regions of great heresy.” His death in 1942 changed the situation immediately since it excluded him from any future dialog. Not knowing about it, Ficowski wrote a letter to Schulz, hoping that the writer would respond, but the dead do not write letters. His rapture Ficowski translated into his study of Schulz. Today we know that it was a work of his lifetime, thanks to which Schulz, after years of marginalization and even absence, survived in literature. Ficowski was the founder of Schulz studies. Many readers have approached his Regions of Great Heresy as a document, a genuine source of information. Equally important is a trilogy also prepared by Ficowski, including, first, the Book of Letters, second, the Book of Images, and now it is high time we had the Book of Memories. It should consist of the letters wrritten to Ficowski by the witnesses of Schulz’s life.
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Komentowanie i oczywistości

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Schulz/Forum
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2013
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issue 3
112-118
PL
The author makes a general statement that writers such as Bruno Schulz, who do not help their audience interpret their texts, require commentary that is potentially boundless. Referring to the tradition of Polish editorship and textual studies, he specifies the list of tasks of the commentator – in this case the commentator of Schulz’s fiction – which includes explaining not only the meaning(s) of particular lexical items or cultural allusions, but also all the potential ambiguities at the level of interpretation. This is why, according to Rosiek, commentary occupies the space between “lexicon and interpretation,” and there are no rules that may help a particular editor find his or her way about there. The most important universal directive it to explain virtually everything since the continuity of culture, connecting different generations is no longer a fact, if it ever was one.
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