European Literature

Stone Upon Stone

Stone Upon Stone

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  • Create Date：2021-08-08 09:54:38
  • Update Date：2025-09-06
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  • Author：Wiesław Myśliwski
  • ISBN：098262462X
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Summary

A masterpiece of post-war Polish literature， Stone Upon Stone is Wiesław Myśliwski’s grand epic in the rural tradition—a profound and irreverent stream of memory cutting through the rich and varied terrain of one man’s connection to the land， to his family and community， to women， to tradition， to God， to death， and to what it means to be alive。

Wise and impetuous， plainspoken and compassionate Szymek， recalls his youth in their village， his time as a guerrilla soldier， as a wedding official， barber， policeman， lover， drinker， and caretaker for his invalid brother。

Filled with interwoven stories and voices， by turns hilarious and moving， Szymek’s narrative exudes the profound wisdom of one who has suffered， yet who loves life to the very core。

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Reviews

Cornelis Broekhof ，

Dit is het derde boek van Myśliwski dat ik heb gelezen en hetis net zo geweldig als de andere twee。 Ik zie nu ook dat de verhalen op sommige punten met elkaar te maken hebben。 De monoloogvorm bevalt mij buitengewoon， maar de manier waarop Myśliwski deze vorm gebruikt vind ik echt ongeëvenaard， wat een weergaloze schrijver！ Er schijnt nog een vierde boek te zijn， De Horizon， dat moet ik zeker ook lezen。

Mike Colligan ，

I don't believe I have ever， in fact I'm sure I have never， used the word "enchanting" in a review but I am completely comfortable doing so with "Stone upon Stone"。 A wonderful read。 The author captures the complexity of what on the surface might seem to be the ordinary lives of rural Poland。 Even more stunning is the author's ability to capture the beauty of those lives and the beauty of life itself。 All this is accomplished with humor and simple but eloquent prose。 An overlooked work of genius I don't believe I have ever， in fact I'm sure I have never， used the word "enchanting" in a review but I am completely comfortable doing so with "Stone upon Stone"。 A wonderful read。 The author captures the complexity of what on the surface might seem to be the ordinary lives of rural Poland。 Even more stunning is the author's ability to capture the beauty of those lives and the beauty of life itself。 All this is accomplished with humor and simple but eloquent prose。 An overlooked work of genius。 。。。more

Julia ，

Chyba nie potrafiłam wczuc się w nią tak， jak bym chciała:（ By pozwoliła ujrzeć mi to， co chcial autor w niej zawrzeć。 Z pewnością kiedyś do niej wrócę。 Póki co na pierwszym miejscu widnieje u mnie"ostatnie rozdanie" Chyba nie potrafiłam wczuc się w nią tak， jak bym chciała:（ By pozwoliła ujrzeć mi to， co chcial autor w niej zawrzeć。 Z pewnością kiedyś do niej wrócę。 Póki co na pierwszym miejscu widnieje u mnie"ostatnie rozdanie" 。。。more

Ewa ，

„I każdego słowa nie wypowiedzianego na tym świecie do siebie będziemy jak grzechów żałować。 Tylko że będzie za późno。 A ileż takich słów nie wypowiedzianych zostaje w każdym człowieku i umiera razem z nim， i gnije z nim， i ani mu potem w cierpieniu nie służy， ani w pamięci。 To po co jeszcze sami sobie zadajemy milczenie？”

Kinga ，

Because these days anyone who goes around on their own two feet is nothing but an obstacle to the cars， on the road and everywhere else。 Even when you're walking at the side of the road you feel as if all the cars are driving through you。A book positioned at a time of great change in Europe in which society changed from an agarian-based economy with the land farmed through pretty medieval methods， into an industrial and tech-based one。 Szymek Pietruszka， our narrator， thinks about his life and r Because these days anyone who goes around on their own two feet is nothing but an obstacle to the cars， on the road and everywhere else。 Even when you're walking at the side of the road you feel as if all the cars are driving through you。A book positioned at a time of great change in Europe in which society changed from an agarian-based economy with the land farmed through pretty medieval methods， into an industrial and tech-based one。 Szymek Pietruszka， our narrator， thinks about his life and retells a number of stories through an （almost） a stream of consciusness。 Plot？ There really isn't a lot there to talk about: he is born， he has four brothers， he looks after his disabled brother， he spends time in a hospital， he goes to dances， he serves in the resistance but none of these are retold in any chronological way。 Szymek jumps from story to story， interjecting into his rememberings long monologues and philosophical musings。 And yet this book works。 We are pulled into the mind of this narrator， seeing the world through his eyes， watching his country and his way of life change。 。。。it's only thanks to our weakness that we're connected to other people， that we recognise ourselves in other people， and they recognise themselves in us。 And that's how our human fate is shared。 It has room for everyone。 In it our humanity is fulfilled。 Because we don't exist outside our fate。 We belong to human fate through weakness， not strength。 。。。more

Dax ，

There's a blurb on the back of the book that talks about illuminating the balance of beauty and brutality that defines existence， and I thought that was a wonderful summation of Szymek's story。 In a form that could be called naivete， Szymek tells the tale of rustic Polish life in and around WWII。 The calm， relaxed lifestyle that is interrupted by mass violence and bloodshed。 The good hearted gabber who takes to the bottle too often and can't be taken seriously by his neighbors。 The wartime hero There's a blurb on the back of the book that talks about illuminating the balance of beauty and brutality that defines existence， and I thought that was a wonderful summation of Szymek's story。 In a form that could be called naivete， Szymek tells the tale of rustic Polish life in and around WWII。 The calm， relaxed lifestyle that is interrupted by mass violence and bloodshed。 The good hearted gabber who takes to the bottle too often and can't be taken seriously by his neighbors。 The wartime hero who kills Germans without remorse but delicately bathes his ill brother。 Szymek's life is a paradox of sorts。 It's a wonderful illustration of the fine line of existence。There are so many qualities to love about this book。 The nonlinear structure works wonderfully， Wieslaw's prose is beautiful， the characters are memorable- even the ones who only stick around just long enough to die。 A testament to the quality of a writer is the ability to take a quiet scene and make it spellbinding to a reader。 Szymek's conversation with the priest， for example。 Or the scene of him bathing his brother。 Or Szymek coming to terms with a quarrelsome neighbor。 But this isn't just a quiet novel， Szymek's experiences during WWII are the stuff of tragedy。 I guess that's just another example of the contradictions of Szymek's story。 。。。more

Old Greg ，

I finished reading this sometime last year， so this review is slightly dated and I may not remember everything about this book， but this evening a scene from it came back to me。 It nearly felt like a memory of my own life， but I have never been a resistance fighter， and many of the scenes are so unbelievable that you would think nobody could have lived through these kinds of events。 Sadly， though a work of fiction， this novel borrows from Polish history and even with a vague familiarity with thi I finished reading this sometime last year， so this review is slightly dated and I may not remember everything about this book， but this evening a scene from it came back to me。 It nearly felt like a memory of my own life， but I have never been a resistance fighter， and many of the scenes are so unbelievable that you would think nobody could have lived through these kinds of events。 Sadly， though a work of fiction， this novel borrows from Polish history and even with a vague familiarity with this subject， one is aware of the realism of this work。The novel is told in a stream of consciousness style， but one that differs from the auto-indexical quality that Faulkner or the narrator in one of Dostoyevsky's shorter works have。 The text gives over to the sensation of sitting around and ruminating on past events in one's life， and Myśliwski somehow effortlessly portrays this feeling while giving us interesting segments of a life， at times thrilling， horrifying， romantic， and even banal， but always grounded in realism。 I encourage any readers of this novel who may tire of the authors ruminative style to set the book down and read episodes within it as short-stories， though this is often hard to do as the episodes of the protagonists life， or rather the memories of these events bleed into other memories。 The protagonist is a very human character， and that is to say that he is often presented through moments in which he was less than glorious or a failure。 But it is the moments where he triumphs that we savour， just as we do in our own lives。Bill Johnston is a great translator of Polish literature into English and has even translated the Polish national epic Pan Tadeusz into english using heroic couplets。 He has also translated other great Polish writers such as Gombrowicz， Żeromski， and Różewicz。 All of this is to say that this English translation reads like a novel originally published in English。Myśliwski is considered by many Poles to be one of their finest living writers， and he is one of the few to have won their most prestigious award twice。 I've heard that his novel "A Treatise on Shelling Beans" is considered his best work in his native Poland， but this may be wrong about that。 In any case， I will be on the look out for any of his other works as this novel greatly impressed me as one of the finest I've read。 Thanks for the birthday present ebabehh。 。。。more

hardasan ，

Tek kelimesi ziyan değil yazarın; insana， hayata， inanca， doğaya， zorluğa， acıya， yokluğa， boşluğa o kadar zarifçe dokunmuş ki ortaya muazzam bir kitap çıkmış。 Çeviri mükemmel。

Marta ，

Książka która zmusza do zastanowienia nie tylko nad tym "jak było kiedyś"， ale przede wszystkim "jak jest teraz"。 Książka która zmusza do zastanowienia nie tylko nad tym "jak było kiedyś"， ale przede wszystkim "jak jest teraz"。 。。。more

Robert Wechsler ，

There is something special about a work of art that tries to do something that seems impossible， and succeeds。 The impossible doesn’t have to have a scope that’s huge。 It doesn’t have to blow you away。 It just has to be something I would bet the artist cannot do。In the case of this novel， the impossible is a first-person narrative of the life of a Polish farmer apparently in a Polish-speaking part of the Ukraine （this isn’t made clear） that goes on for nearly 550 pages of rambling anecdotes that There is something special about a work of art that tries to do something that seems impossible， and succeeds。 The impossible doesn’t have to have a scope that’s huge。 It doesn’t have to blow you away。 It just has to be something I would bet the artist cannot do。In the case of this novel， the impossible is a first-person narrative of the life of a Polish farmer apparently in a Polish-speaking part of the Ukraine （this isn’t made clear） that goes on for nearly 550 pages of rambling anecdotes that mostly involve death。 And for the most part the narrator is an angry， violent jerk， who appears to stumble upon wisdom more than he attains it。 This impossible novel is a masterpiece。 Mysliwski and Johnston scarcely make a single misstep， however many the narrator makes。 The narrator walks through time like a drunk， and yet it works。 He’s not a classic unreliable narrator， but you don’t quite trust anything he says。 He’s not really a storyteller， and yet I never tired of his anecdotes。 When you think you’re going to tire of him， the novel is handed over （in speeches， not narration） to his father， the local priest， and others， whose stories and harangues freshen things up。 I felt so strongly about this novel， I added a polish-lit bookshelf to My Books on Goodreads （which also includes the great Olga Tokarczuk）。 。。。more

Paulina ，

Wiesław Myśliwski to jeden z moich ulubionych pisarzy。 Ta książka podobała mi się jak dotąd najmniej， nie tyle styl pisania （bo ten zawsze dobry）， co tematyka polskiej wsi。 Niemniej skończyłam， polecam， jak wszystkie inne。

Benny ，

Wat een ontdekking！ Wieslaw Mysliwski is zo’n schrijver waar ik al lang iets van wilde lezen， maar voor trage boeken heb je tijd en zielsrust nodig， dus kwam het er niet van。 Nu wel。 Ik las dit boek tijdens de eerste quarantaineweek ， elke dag een hoofdstuk， in stijgende bewondering。Szymek Pietruszka is een oude boer die， herstellende van een verkeersongeluk， terugblikt op zijn bestaan。 Een heilige was hij niet， een rebelse tiener， flierefluiter， zuipschuit en meisjesgek wel。 Hij heeft losse han Wat een ontdekking！ Wieslaw Mysliwski is zo’n schrijver waar ik al lang iets van wilde lezen， maar voor trage boeken heb je tijd en zielsrust nodig， dus kwam het er niet van。 Nu wel。 Ik las dit boek tijdens de eerste quarantaineweek ， elke dag een hoofdstuk， in stijgende bewondering。Szymek Pietruszka is een oude boer die， herstellende van een verkeersongeluk， terugblikt op zijn bestaan。 Een heilige was hij niet， een rebelse tiener， flierefluiter， zuipschuit en meisjesgek wel。 Hij heeft losse handjes en klopt er geregeld op los， ook later als volwassene。 In Steen op steen stapelen de herinneringen zich op。 Tijdens de oorlog was Szymek lid van het verzet， dus ook de grote gruwel op het Poolse platteland komt aan bod。 Na de oorlog verdient hij even de kost als kapper， daarna versiert hij een baantje als gemeentelijk ambtenaar， maar eindigen doet hij als boer， tegen wil en dank， want de boerenstiel is hard en hij had daar nooit echt zin in。 Bovendien komt hij laat， want de wereld is grondig veranderd。Tot een fatsoenlijke relatie is het ondanks – of net door – zijn vele liefjes vroeger nooit gekomen。 Twee broers van hem hebben het platteland de rug toegekeerd en na de dood van zijn ouders blijft hij alleen achter om voor de boerderij te zorgen en voor de gehandicapte oudere broer die bij hem inwoont。Steen op steen is een verhaal vol aardse schoonheid。 De eindeloze memoriestroom dompelt je onder in de wereld van vroeger en dat was – voor alle duidelijkheid – géén paradijs！ Maar ondanks de schrijnende armoede， het bijna dagelijkse geweld en de bittere kommer en kwel van het boerenbestaan…je voelt de schoonheid， de ontroering en liefde。 "Soms komt het me voor dat de enige wijsheid die ons van het leven rest de verbijstering over het leven is。" （p。488）Szymek Pietruszka is een van de indrukwekkendste romanpersonages die in lange tijd ben tegengekomen。 Ik ga die klootzak missen…Gustave Van de Woestyne， "De slechte zaaier" （1950） 。。。more

selcuk ，

Romanın baş karakteri ‘Syzmek’ ölüme hazırlık yapan bir adamdır。 Kendisi ve ailesi için bir mezar yeri edinmeye ve bir mezarlık yaptırmaya çalışmaktadır。 Roman boyunca mezarlık mevzusuna dönse de asıl bahsettiği geçmişine dair hatırladıklarıdır。 Herhangi bir tarih sıralaması gözetmeksizin， bütün yaşadıklarını soluksuz anlatır。 Savaşlardan， toprakla mücadelesinden， ailesinden， yaptığı işlerden uzun uzun bahseder。 Düşüncelerini en çok dolduransa ‘kardeş’ meselesidir。 Anlatısını taş üstüne taş koya Romanın baş karakteri ‘Syzmek’ ölüme hazırlık yapan bir adamdır。 Kendisi ve ailesi için bir mezar yeri edinmeye ve bir mezarlık yaptırmaya çalışmaktadır。 Roman boyunca mezarlık mevzusuna dönse de asıl bahsettiği geçmişine dair hatırladıklarıdır。 Herhangi bir tarih sıralaması gözetmeksizin， bütün yaşadıklarını soluksuz anlatır。 Savaşlardan， toprakla mücadelesinden， ailesinden， yaptığı işlerden uzun uzun bahseder。 Düşüncelerini en çok dolduransa ‘kardeş’ meselesidir。 Anlatısını taş üstüne taş koyar gibi ağır ağır yapar ve neredeyse tüm hayatını gözümüzün önüne serer。 İyi bir anlatıcı olduğunu söyleyebilirim。 Bazen felsefi derinliği olan konuşmalar yaparken; bazen çok alaycı bir dil kullanır。 Her iki durumda da en çok içindeki hüznü， yalnızlığı; yapamama， başarılı olamama， ağabey olma， bırakıp gidememe， gidip gidip geri dönme hallerini hissettirir。 Bir roman karakteriyle günlerce vakit geçirmeyi， uzun hayat hikayeleri okumayı seviyorsanız sizin için de iyi bir kitap olabilir。 。。。more

Mona ，

Recenzja jak najbardziej nieobiektywna。Wiesław Myśliwski jest jednym z moich ulubionych pisarzy。 Najtrafniejsze， choć niezby poetyckie porównanie jaki przychodzi mi na myśl， to że z czytaniem literatury Myśliwskiego jest jak z pieczeniem chleba - niezbędny jest czas i cierpliwość。W moim przekonaniu "Kamień na kamieniu" różni się dość znacznie od ostatnich powieści tego pisarza。 Tutaj autor koncentruje się bardziej na przedstawieniu obrazu polskiej wsi， relacji międzyludzkich， obyczajów。 Przekaz Recenzja jak najbardziej nieobiektywna。Wiesław Myśliwski jest jednym z moich ulubionych pisarzy。 Najtrafniejsze， choć niezby poetyckie porównanie jaki przychodzi mi na myśl， to że z czytaniem literatury Myśliwskiego jest jak z pieczeniem chleba - niezbędny jest czas i cierpliwość。W moim przekonaniu "Kamień na kamieniu" różni się dość znacznie od ostatnich powieści tego pisarza。 Tutaj autor koncentruje się bardziej na przedstawieniu obrazu polskiej wsi， relacji międzyludzkich， obyczajów。 Przekaz głębszych wartości i prawd odbywa się jakby na drugim planie， "niechcący"。  W swoich 2-3 ostatnich powieściach Myśliwski jakby czuł， że ma niewiele czasu i chce przekazać swoje życiowe spostrzeżenia i doświadczenia w bardziej skondensowany sposób。Jest to z pewnością książka warta przeczytania， autor zna polską wieś bardzo dobrze i potrafi opisać ją bardzo trafnie。 Nie była to jednak moja ulubiona książka Myśliwskiego i na pewno przeczytanie jej zajęło mi najdłużej ze wszystkich dotychczasowych。 Czas i cierpliwość。  。。。more

Blake Johnson ，

Sleep beneath the earth and dew， May you dream of Poland true。Words lead the way of their own accord。 Words bring everything out onto the surface。 Words take everything that hurts and whines and they drag it all out from the deepest depths。 Words let blood， and you feel better right away。Whattup？ I finally finished this book。 Admittedly I was so wrapped up in it that I got burned out at page 470。 It's a 530 page book; it was a fun immersive experience in Slavic life。 Everybody Szymek met would h Sleep beneath the earth and dew， May you dream of Poland true。Words lead the way of their own accord。 Words bring everything out onto the surface。 Words take everything that hurts and whines and they drag it all out from the deepest depths。 Words let blood， and you feel better right away。Whattup？ I finally finished this book。 Admittedly I was so wrapped up in it that I got burned out at page 470。 It's a 530 page book; it was a fun immersive experience in Slavic life。 Everybody Szymek met would have a long monologue， the book itself was like a grand speech about living according to the Earth， and living among people too; and animals。 It gave me fond memories of my time in Poland， and a better incite into their culture。 They are rowdy， and comical， and wise through and throughout。 It's an epic book， following Szymek's family， and his life as a farmer， a barber， a resistance fighter， a cop， and a belligerent dancer and swooner of the ladies。 It may not be a country with a lot of economical value， but they are keen with fellowship。 They are neighbours who take care of each other， brother's even in war- when Szymek was on the run from Germans， his neighbours who were in a feud over agriculture gave him shelter。 When he was in the hospital with injuries they took care of his land。 When I was in the country people sang proudly on the train， after our party at Zombie Walk。 Girls were interested in meeting me， while I was dancing like Szymek does to an oborek- or a polka。 I only had one girl on my mind， though。 Stone Upon Stone。 Because gratitude isn't in the pocket， it's in the soul。Here there's a single drop， inside there's the ocean。 Here there's a rose， inside there's a pitcher。I sometimes have the feeling I'm living at the expense of eternity。You read and read， and in the end it all went into the ground with you anyway。 With the land it was another matter。 You worked and worked the land， but the land remained afterwards。 With reading， not even a line， not a single word， was left behind。 。。。more

Judy ，

"Stone upon stoneOn stone a stoneAnd on that stoneAnother stone" -from a folk songThis book was my translated novel for the month。 It has sat on my shelves for almost a decade and I kept putting off reading it because it is so long。 It turned out to be a mixed blessing。First of all， it took me 10 days to read， during which I got several wonderful naps。 The title comes from the folk song quoted above。 Polish peasants， people who have farmed grain and raised animals for centuries upon centuries， "Stone upon stoneOn stone a stoneAnd on that stoneAnother stone" -from a folk songThis book was my translated novel for the month。 It has sat on my shelves for almost a decade and I kept putting off reading it because it is so long。 It turned out to be a mixed blessing。First of all， it took me 10 days to read， during which I got several wonderful naps。 The title comes from the folk song quoted above。 Polish peasants， people who have farmed grain and raised animals for centuries upon centuries， are now dealing with rapid change after WWII has left their ancient country under communist rule。The pace of life went at the speed evoked in the song。 A peasant son narrates his life story。 I don't know if it is a Polish thing but he and everyone else in the book go on and on， so many words。 Like a cow chewing cud， they ruminate about their thoughts， tell tales， and give each other advice。Gradually I became immersed in a world that only moves as fast as a day from sunrise to sunset， a year from planting to harvest to cold long winter to spring planting again。 I moved into the head and heart of a man who rebelled and fought against the tyranny of his father， the monotony of peasant life， the oppression of military invasion， but never lost his sense of himself or became beaten down。The translation is wonderful。 It sings， it sounds modern and almost serves as a metaphor for the wrenching changes these people were put through。 The underlying wisdom of such simple folk， derived from their intimate connection with the land and its cycles of life， comes rising up out of all those words。 Like the overwhelming majority of reviews I read， I too ended up loving the book， feeling a transcendence as regards the extremes of which human life is composed。 I do not regret one second of the time I spent reading what is a masterpiece of an epic。 Life is a mixed blessing。"Stone upon stoneOn stone a stoneAnd on that stoneAnother stone" 。。。more

Chase ，

Reads much like a polish version of GB Edwards' Book of Ebenezer Le Page。 Both feature crusty crotchety， yet somehow still charming， old men who recount their lives within the first half of the 20th century in a winding and slap dash fashion （despite some lapses into the territory of blatant misogyny）。 Both are provincial souls who have decided to seclude themselves away from modern society and it's trappings。 Wisdom， humour， and existentialist horror abound。 Mysliwski's tale is （being polish） m Reads much like a polish version of GB Edwards' Book of Ebenezer Le Page。 Both feature crusty crotchety， yet somehow still charming， old men who recount their lives within the first half of the 20th century in a winding and slap dash fashion （despite some lapses into the territory of blatant misogyny）。 Both are provincial souls who have decided to seclude themselves away from modern society and it's trappings。 Wisdom， humour， and existentialist horror abound。 Mysliwski's tale is （being polish） markedly darker and more death obsessed than Edwards'， it also has a much more lyrical approach to the prose。 Although I still personally prefer Ebenezer as a character and narrator。 。。。more

Rein ，

Op ingenieuze en associatieve wijze metselt Mysliwski steen op steen om daarmee een beeld te geven van het leven in een Pools dorp voor en na WO II en tegelijk regelt hij ook nog een familiegraf。 Groots！ Ontroerend en zeer boeiend。

Arleta Lata ，

Jedna z najpiękniejszych książek jakie czytałam， aczkolwiek wpływ na ocenę mógł mieć fakt， że był to mój pierwszy Myśliwski。 Historie poukładane tematycznie zabierają nas w przeszłość snującego opowieść， ale nie w porządku chronologicznym。 Pozornie luźne wątki łącza się w historie życia bohatera。 Majstersztyk i uczta。

Vida Paužienė ，

Tiesiai į favoritus！

Katia N ，

This book is over 500 pages of the internal monologue of Szymek Pietruszka， the peasant from a fictional polish village。 It did not sound like my cup of tea on the surface， as I am as urban as one could be。 Bu it is appeared to be the most wonderful read。 Szymek so far is the best character I've read about this year and likely would stay this way。 The author has created absolutely unique， idiosyncratic voice which makes the narrative flow。 The period covered is approximately from the 30s to the This book is over 500 pages of the internal monologue of Szymek Pietruszka， the peasant from a fictional polish village。 It did not sound like my cup of tea on the surface， as I am as urban as one could be。 Bu it is appeared to be the most wonderful read。 Szymek so far is the best character I've read about this year and likely would stay this way。 The author has created absolutely unique， idiosyncratic voice which makes the narrative flow。 The period covered is approximately from the 30s to the 60s of the last century。 It shows the fatalism and resilience of the peasant population at that time in Central Europe， the spirit which has almost totally disappeared。 It is very colourful， humorous， but very profound book。 Experience to treasure。 And I am totally in awe about the translation into English。 Johnston has managed to keep the uniqueness of the voice and the rhythm of the prose。 There are a few americanisms and a few choices which I would not agree with。 But in general - superb work of the translator which certainly adds to the experience。 。。。more

Stephen C。 ，

At first i was only going to give this four stars but frakly i dreaded finishing this book， as if it were a deeply rooted relative in my history i dreaded leaving。 Ive never had abandonment issues surrounding a book， and this was my first。 This book seeped into me so personally that i actually wished it went on for another 500 pages。 As life is mundane， complex， harrowing and gleaming， so it was with this book。

Alisa Žarkova ，

Žodžiai patys veda。 Žodžiai viską visumon iškelia。 Žodžiai slapčiausias gelmes atveria， jei kur ką skauda ar maudžia。 Žodžiai kraują nuleidžia， ir iš kart palengvėja。 ***–tKaip nors numirsiu。 Žmogus pripratęs mirti， kunige klebone。 Jis ne tik gyvena nuo lopšio iki karsto， bet ir miršta nuo lopšio iki karsto。 Numirti， kunige klebone， tai ne numirti tą vieną kartą。 Kas čia žino， gal žmogus ilgiau miršta， ne kad gyvena。 Juk tebemiršti dar ir palaidotas。 Miršti atmintyje tų， kurie liko gyvi。 O tas v Žodžiai patys veda。 Žodžiai viską visumon iškelia。 Žodžiai slapčiausias gelmes atveria， jei kur ką skauda ar maudžia。 Žodžiai kraują nuleidžia， ir iš kart palengvėja。 ***–tKaip nors numirsiu。 Žmogus pripratęs mirti， kunige klebone。 Jis ne tik gyvena nuo lopšio iki karsto， bet ir miršta nuo lopšio iki karsto。 Numirti， kunige klebone， tai ne numirti tą vieną kartą。 Kas čia žino， gal žmogus ilgiau miršta， ne kad gyvena。 Juk tebemiršti dar ir palaidotas。 Miršti atmintyje tų， kurie liko gyvi。 O tas vienintelis kartas gal tik mirties pabaiga。 Tačiau kolei žmogus tą pabaigą prieina， kiek kartų jam prieš tai tenka numirti。 Iš tiesų taip yra， kunige klebone， su kiekvienu， kuris miršta greta mūsų， mirštame po truputėlį ir mes patys， kurie čia pasiliekam。 Jis išeina， o savo mirtį mums palieka， ir niekur nuo jo nedingsim。 Jis ten kape pūva ir nesuvokia， net nejaučia， kad pūva， nes jau nieko nesuvokia， nejaučia net to， kad kažką paliko。 Ir nors jau nebėra nieko iš artimųjų， kas po jo galėtų mirti， miršta tolimesnieji miršta kaimynai， pažįstami， o gal ir visai svetimi， nors patys to ir nežinodami。 Gana， kunige klebone， kad jau gyvename šitame begaliniame mirime， idant jis ir mus su savim trauktų。 Tarkim， va ėmė ir padvėsė karvė， krito arklys， vanagas viščiukus iškapojo。 Tai irgi mūsų mirtys。 Ir， ko gero， kai jau per daug tų mirčių susikaupia žmoguje， išmuša ir mūsų valanda。 Man kai kada net atrodo， tarsi būčiau iš mirusiųjų kilęs。 Atrodo， kaip ir gyvenu， bet mirtis mane tik dėl to pasiliko， kad aš visus iki vieno palaidočiau。 Ir tada jau turėtų ateiti visa ko pabaiga， amžiams。***<。。。> Ketinome pasikalbėti。 Pagaliau nenori， nekalbėk。 Nori gyventi šitaip be žodžių， tai ir gyvenk sau。 Bet kas būtų， jeigu visi žmonės kaime šitaip nutiltų？ Ir tiktai artų， sėtų， pjautų， vežtų ir netgi kits kitam padėk Dieve nepratartų。 Drauge su žmonėmis nutiltų šunys， katės ir visa， kas gyva， net paukščiai nustotų čiulbėję， varlės nekvarksėtų。 Koks gi čia pasaulis？ Net medžiai kalba， jei gerai įsiklausai。 Ir kiekvienas savo kalba – ąžuolas ąžuolo， bukas buko。 Upės， javas kalba。 Visas pasaulis – ištisa kalba。 Gerai įsiklausęs į tą pasaulį， tikriausiai galėtum išgirsti， kas buvo kalbama prieš šimtą， o gal ir tūkstantį metų。 Žodžiai nemirtingi。 It kokie nematomi paukščiai， kartą ištarei， o jie paskui amžinai sklando virš mūsų， tik mes jų negirdim。 。。。more

Vilsa ，

Ech。。。 Przemęczyłam。 I bardzo się zawiodłam。 To moje trzecie spotkanie z autorem， ale tym razem zupełnie mnie nie porwał。 Właściwie wszystko， co zostało tu opisane jest tym， czym gardzę; fałszywa bogobojność， zero wartości moralnych， łatwość kontaktów seksualnych， bijatyki bez powodu。 A już najbardziej brzydził mnie główny bohater。 I to jego narzekanie， że tyle się musi za panną naganiać， a ona i tak mu nie chce dać。。。Masakra。 Znalazłam w tej książce kilka mądrych myśli， ale ciężko się dokopać p Ech。。。 Przemęczyłam。 I bardzo się zawiodłam。 To moje trzecie spotkanie z autorem， ale tym razem zupełnie mnie nie porwał。 Właściwie wszystko， co zostało tu opisane jest tym， czym gardzę; fałszywa bogobojność， zero wartości moralnych， łatwość kontaktów seksualnych， bijatyki bez powodu。 A już najbardziej brzydził mnie główny bohater。 I to jego narzekanie， że tyle się musi za panną naganiać， a ona i tak mu nie chce dać。。。Masakra。 Znalazłam w tej książce kilka mądrych myśli， ale ciężko się dokopać przez ten muł jakim są wynurzenia okropnego głównego bohatera; a to na drodze źle， bo zrobili asfalt i teraz nachlanym nie można leżeć， bo jeszcze samochód przejedzie， a Kaśka sklepowa najlepsza， bo zawsze da， a Małgośka zła， bo nie daje， a Michał zły， bo poszedł pracować。。。 No mnóstwo tak głupich sytuacji， że aż nie jestem w stanie przytoczyć。 A najstraszniejsze jest to， że dużo się na wsi nie zmieniło nawet w naszych czasach。 Nadal widzę podobną mentalność。 。。。more

Jim Fonseca ，

A long， slow read， meant to be savored and it is worth it。 I read this bit by bit over a few months。 It mixes up the present with reflections of the past in stream-of-consciousness passages。 There is little dialogue。 The main character is a Polish man who fought in the resistance against the Germans and then the Russians in WW II。 He was hospitalized for a year with wagon injuries to his leg。 He’s mainly a farmer but at times supplement his income as a barber and a clerk in the town hall。 We rea A long， slow read， meant to be savored and it is worth it。 I read this bit by bit over a few months。 It mixes up the present with reflections of the past in stream-of-consciousness passages。 There is little dialogue。 The main character is a Polish man who fought in the resistance against the Germans and then the Russians in WW II。 He was hospitalized for a year with wagon injuries to his leg。 He’s mainly a farmer but at times supplement his income as a barber and a clerk in the town hall。 We read of his present doings and reflections on his growing up on the farm。 He was one of four brothers。 Two brothers left for the big cities and essentially never came back except for a visit of a few hours every three years。 We see the infinite sadness of a mother writing to her sons who never reply。 The youngest brother is mentally challenged and the main character takes care of him。 --- but he’s no saint。 On one occasion he savagely beats his woman friend and on another， his brother。 He believes in God but in a superstitious way; he comes to believe that God is the land。 So what is like working on a Polish farm and growing up in rural Poland in what is probably around 1930’s to the 1970’s？ When he was a boy they cut rye and wheat by hand with scythes and they used horses to plow and draw wagons。 The hard work and tedium of cutting acres by hand！ We learn of his parents strong but simple religious beliefs; how he wooed young women at dances and village fairs， blind drunk on vodka。 With the coming of autos， for horse-drawn vehicles the road became a danger and a barrier to crossing the town。 There are legal battles and fistfights with neighboring farmers as they try to encroach on boundaries。 I’ll let the author speak for himself with samples of his excellent writing: [On looking up at a crucifix] “Death draws you downward。 With your head craned up it’s hard to cry even。 The tears get stuck in your throat when it’s stretching up， and they trickle down into your stomach instead of into your eyes。”[on his longing for a pair of officers’ boots] “I felt as if dying in those boots would be a different kind of death than dying in ordinary shoes or barefoot。” “The world’s still the way it was， and all thinking does is make you want to think more and do less。”On a battle that was fought over a patch of ground that held a cemetery: “It was so hellish even the worms couldn’t take it anymore， let a lone the dead…。There were skeletons bodies， coffins， all over the place， like death had suddenly gone on the rampage all on its own because it had run short of living people and it had dragged the dead out of their graves so it could kill them all over again。”“Words bring everything out onto the surface。 Words take everything that hurts and whines and they drag it all out from the deepest depths。 Words let blood， and you fell better right away…Because words are a great grace。 When it comes down to it， what are you given other than words？ Either way， there’s a great silence waiting for us in the end， and we’ll have our fill of silence…And every word we didn’t say to each other in this world we’ll regret like a sin…And how many of those unsaid words stay in each person and die with him， and rot with him， and they aren’t of any use to him either in his suffering， or in his memory？” “And weeping knows everything， words don’t know， thoughts don’t know， dreams don’t know， and sometimes God himself doesn’t know but human weeping knows。 Because weeping is weeping， and it’s also the thing that it’s weeping over。” “Back then， friend， when you died there was a hole left in the village， like in the road。 But in those times， you might say death was attached to people。 Everyone lived their whole life in one place， so the death of one person was kind of like the death of all of them。 These days everyone’s in motion， so death moves around as well。”When someone talks of the main character’s exploits in the war: “I just nodded， because the way he told it was truer than it actually was。”As he lays with a woman under a feather quilt: “Real geese had worn them [the feathers] as they lived and ate and grew and went down to the water， they had red beaks and cackled the way geese do。 Then the women plucked the feathers from the geese。 The women lived once just like the geese did。 Those might even have been their happiest moments， when they gathered on winter evenings to pluck feathers， because why else would they have lived？ If you listened really closely， you could still hear the sound of their hands in among the down， and the songs they sang。” The book was written in Polish in 1999 and not translated into English until 2010 when it won two awards for translated books， one of which was the PEN Translation award。 Top photo of Polish farmers in 1930's from cultural-traditions。blogspot。comPhoto of the author from wikipedia 。。。more

Michael ，

This fat novel， first published in 1984 and translated into English in 1999， felt to me like a masterful paean to the power of human memory to hold a lifetime， to reconstruct a dying way of rural life， and to reveal the heroic and stubborn resilience of the spirit。 We start with Szymek in middle-age working on a stone tomb for his two brothers and already dead parents in a rural village in Soviet-era Poland。 One thought leads to another， back and forth through time， spanning his history of rebel This fat novel， first published in 1984 and translated into English in 1999， felt to me like a masterful paean to the power of human memory to hold a lifetime， to reconstruct a dying way of rural life， and to reveal the heroic and stubborn resilience of the spirit。 We start with Szymek in middle-age working on a stone tomb for his two brothers and already dead parents in a rural village in Soviet-era Poland。 One thought leads to another， back and forth through time， spanning his history of rebelliousness while growing up in a farming family and eventual return to the land after a life of trying to escape。 Depending on the flow of his memories， we are treated to episodes and chapters from different phases of his life。 These include his traditions in youth as a bully， a womanizer， and a boozer， his more noble but brutal service with the resistance in the war， and his post-war forays into work as a barber， a policeman， and finally different positions in the local government bureaucracy， all with interludes of helping his aging parents manage their farm。 In his recent history， we learn about his recovery for years from serious leg injuries caused by an accident and get visions of him facing up to intimations of mortality and living alone without God or a wife。 Thus， we get a quite fulsome perspective on a whole life and in the process get a priceless biography of a place and rural community at a time of great change。 The concept of a larger Poland barely penetrates into the personal lives we come to know， only the challenge of maintaining some kind of local integrity in the face of German followed by Soviet invasions。 I don’t believe the words Nazi or communist were ever used by the characters。 Only the human connection to the land and the joys of celebrating life through humor and lust shows any persistence。 Syzmek is the epitome of a man who wants primarily to live life and not mortgage it to duty。 Mysliwski’s narrative flows well despite the hopping into different tributaries。 In a number of places a long discussion ends up portraying a microcosm of from the life and outlook of another character。 Examples include 10 to 20-page monologues from his boss， the Soviet appointed mayor， and another from the local priest， who has been trying to get Syzmek to submit to confession since his youth。 At first these accounts seem a diversion to Syzmek’s purposes of getting the mayor and priest to approve his plans for the tomb， but both outpourings end up revealing struggles with their missions that parallel Szymek’s and seeking his understanding in common causes。 As always throughout this tale we are left wondering whether Syzmek will succeed or fail in his goal for the tomb， whether he can keep the farm he inherited going， whether he will find God， and whether he will succeed in love。 The reader gains enough knowledge to forge his own ending， Hollywood-style or going down fighting for such goals。 To help your judgment over to pursue this book I now pull a few passages。 From near the beginning， we follow Syzmek’s train of thought about the contrast of a lasting tomb to the anonymous graves they put their slain compatriots in during the war。 The motley caps used to mark the graves reminds him of how ragtag they were， their true integrity obscured:To judge from their caps you might have thought we were a bunch of riffraff and pansies， not an army。 A rabble that was only good for digging ditches， or building dikes， or beating game when the masters go hunting， not an army。 But inside each man there was a devil， and each one of them had a heart of stone。 They forgot about God and forgot how to cry。 And even when burying one of our own， no one shed a tear。 It was just， Ten-shun！ Because sometimes tears make a bigger hole than bullets。 … Because in my command， didn’t just mean feet together and hands at your buttocks。 It meant attention in your mind， and standing up straight in your soul。 … At attention the heart beats slower and the mind thinks straighter。 Who knows， maybe at attention you could even die without regrets…。If I died they were forbidden the same to shed a tear， they just had to stand at attention。 At most someone could play a song for me on the mouth organ。 “Stone upon stone， on stone a stone。” Now I share another sample passage that demonstrates Szymek’s marvelous lust for life as expressed in his bacchanalian penchant for dancing as part of his seductions of women， his favorite being polkas and obereks:The musicians had had their supper， and the vodka was playing in their veins。 They’d taken off their coats， they were playing in shirtsleeves。 Some of them even unbuttoned their shirt down to their belly button， and loosened their belt， and took off their boots because they were pinching。 And all for the music。 Because it was only now the musicians’ souls would come out。 And man， would they play！ They couldn’t feel their lips or their hands， they’d play with their gut， like their fathers and their fathers’ fathers before them。 They played like they were about to die。 Till lightening flashed， and armies marched off to war。 And a wedding party rode on drunken horses。 And flails flailed in barns。 And earth fell on a casket。 And there wasn’t any shame anymore in feeling up a young lady here and there， you could even put your hand on her backside。 And reach under her blouse。 And pull her legs to yours。 And young ladies would find themselves between your knees of their own accord， like chickens coming home to roost。 And they’d fly around the dance floor breathless。 They’d forget their fathers， their mothers， their conscience。 Even the Lord God’s commandments。 Because at those dances heaven and hell mixed together。 Chest squeezed against chest， belly against belly。 They’d giggle and faint their way into such a paradise， you could feel it flowing out of them even through their dresses。 Reading this book reminded me of other favored portraits of rural life， including de Bernieres’ portrait of village life in Anatolia “Birds Without Wings，” and Wendell Berry’s series on the fictional Port Jefferson community of Kentucky。 It also brings to mind a recent read I enjoyed， “Memed My Hawk”， which portrays the life of a Kurdish peasant in Anatolia who also became a rebellious fighter （and bandit） while continuing to revere rural farming traditions。 This book takes some patience to deal with the narrator’s diversions in memory and forgiveness for his transgressions of violence and womanizing， but the warm life it holds breathes and the potent truths in its hero’s stubborn soul made it well worth the effort。 Thanks to Agnieszka for recommending it。 。。。more

Melanie ，

Another reviewer said that this book was like having a conversation with an elderly relative that talks about his/her youth without logical timeline， with repetitions， exxagerations and sometimes hard to follow。 I agree but unlike the other reviewer， I liked it for it。 There is no plot。 Long chapters deal with themes of rural life and the characters， exploring a Poland that was once Russian， then Poland， then German occupied and then Poland again。 At times funny， often heartbreaking， ridiculous， Another reviewer said that this book was like having a conversation with an elderly relative that talks about his/her youth without logical timeline， with repetitions， exxagerations and sometimes hard to follow。 I agree but unlike the other reviewer， I liked it for it。 There is no plot。 Long chapters deal with themes of rural life and the characters， exploring a Poland that was once Russian， then Poland， then German occupied and then Poland again。 At times funny， often heartbreaking， ridiculous， joyous， sad and everything in between。 。。。more

Nikki ，

Translated from the Polish， this story spans from before WWII to the communist take over in Poland。 It is an amazing portrayal of the times， from the perspective of a rural farmer。 The writing is evocative and engaging， the protagonist so completely sketched out。 A really great piece of literature。

Ann ，

złoto

Stefan ，

The 500+ pages of monologue effortlessly weave a carpet with strands from pre-war Poland in the youth of protagonists Szymusz， occupied Poland with Szymusz in the resistance in some quite horrible situations， and post-war Poland with an ageing Szymusz。 In between: the disintegration of the family， the inevitability of the land （a source and a destination）， the closed loop of village life and all around: great heartbreaking writing。"Real fights usually started without any reason。 When the dance w The 500+ pages of monologue effortlessly weave a carpet with strands from pre-war Poland in the youth of protagonists Szymusz， occupied Poland with Szymusz in the resistance in some quite horrible situations， and post-war Poland with an ageing Szymusz。 In between: the disintegration of the family， the inevitability of the land （a source and a destination）， the closed loop of village life and all around: great heartbreaking writing。"Real fights usually started without any reason。 When the dance was in full swing， and everybody was well watered。 And whoever was going to stay had stayed。 Whoever still had the strength to sing was singing。 And whoever had lost their singing voice was reeling about and yelling。 The young ladies would be squeaking like mice in the corners， and everything would have gotten good and mixed up。 Dresses and shirts， souls and bodies， sweat and blood， and the ceiling lamps were hidden in a dark mist。 And there was nothing but noise and crush from wall and to wall。 And no one knew anyone anymore。 People's feet would be making merry all on their own， the entire barn felt like an apple tree that someone was shaking with all their might。 It was dusty as a dirt track in summer。 Because by then every dance was a fast one。 Obereks and polkas， polkas and obereks [。。。] And the band would be filled with the devil， he'd have them waving their bows like scythes cutting off nobles' heads。 He'd put a storm wind in the clarinet。 He'd set the accordion spinning。 And hurl rocks at the drums。 And if on top of everything else it was a hot close night outside， there was nothing for it but to let some blood。"The book reminded me a of Oblomov， even though the character is the polar opposite of O: talkative， a boozer， a fighter and - not just between the lines - mostly a real dick。 。。。more

Reference

google book https://www.google.com/search?tbm=bks&q=Stone Upon Stone

hathitrust digital library https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/ls?q1=Stone Upon Stone&field1=ocr&a=srchls&ft=ft&lmt=ft

The British Library https://bll01.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/discovery/search?query=any,contains,Stone Upon Stone&tab=LibraryCatalog&search_scope=Not_BL_Suppress&vid=44BL_INST:BLL01&lang=en&offset=0