Running Through the Waves: Polish Prose About the Sea & Sea Adventures

baltyk_east_news.jpg, default, The Baltic coast in Jarosławiec, photo: Marek Kowalczyk / East News

Across the pages of Polish prose, ghost ships and pirate schooners wander, while starfish – whose secrets only writers may unravel – slowly float. What’s more, a parade of colourful maritime characters know how to tell some incredible tales. Be sure to pack one of these books with you when you head to the beach – there’s no better reading for a hot afternoon on the picturesque seaside.

Music of the wave, music of the wind

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Stefan Żeromski on the Hel Peninsula, 1922. photo: Biblioteka Narodowa (POLONA)

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In Poland, Wiatr od Morza (Wind from the Sea, 1922), the classic novel by Polish author Stefan Żeromski, is considered not only a work of art, but also an important historical accomplishment, comparable to the building of the port in Gdynia. This is not an exaggeration. Writing a novel about the return of Pomerania to the territory of Poland, Żeromski – like the biblical Moses, who led his people back to the Promised Land – bound Polish national identity to the sea. It’s no wonder Wiatr od Morza won the very first state literary prize in the history of independent Poland. True, another no-less-important prize – the Nobel – passed Żeromski by, allegedly because Western European critics perceived the novel as anti-German, and their outraged voices were heard in Stockholm.

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Orłowski Cliff, Gdynia, photo: Wojciech Stróżyk / Reporter

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Wiatr od Morza is a novel composed of stories with a very wide-ranging chronology, from the Middle Ages to the beginning of the 1920s, and each one tells about some – sometimes very intense and dramatic – episode of the Poles mastering the Baltic coast. This book was written right on the site of the events described in it: in Gdynia, in the home of fisherman August Plichta, and in the nearby village of Orłowo. Today in Orłowo, which has become a popular Polish seaside resort, at the former fishing lodge where the writer pondered over the composition of Wiatr od Morza, there is a museum house dedicated to Stefan Żeromski. Of course, there are many more tourists on the beach here today than there were 100 years ago, but one thing remains unchanged – the famous cliff, looming over the picturesque seaside, with which the author fell in love through his window.

Ghost ship

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Franciszek Fenikowski, 1967, Gdynia, photo: Stefan Kraszewski/PAP

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The Polish writer Franciszek Fenikowski was ‘hypnotised’ by the sea in his younger years. In 1947, while still a student, he won two prestigious literary competitions at once with his cycle of sonnets and novellas Odys Wraca do Domu (Odysseus Comes Home). Regularly published books of poetry and prose brought Fenikowski fame as one of the most interesting writers and marine painters in Poland. And deservedly so – Fenikowski compensated for his concentration on topic with an enormous variety in genre.

Fenikowski wrote historical novels in the spirit of Walter Scott (Długie Morze [The Long Sea], Smok Króla Augusta [The Dragon of King August], Baszta Trzech Koron [The Tower of Three Crowns]); books about military adventures on the high seas (Trójkąt Diabła (The Devil’s Triangle), novellas and short stories (the collections Zielony Kałamarz [The Green Inkwell] and Gdańska Szkatułka [The Gdańsk Casket]). The writer’s sea stories are especially interesting, somewhat reminiscent of the novellas of Washington Irving and Prosper Mérimée. One of these Franciszek Fenikowski novellas, Statek Błaznów [Ship of Fools] can be found in the collection of short stories by foreign authors Женщина в черном и другие мистические истории (The Woman in Black and Other Mystical Stories), translated into Russian by Yekaterina Kudrina.

Cover of the book ‘Женщина в черном и другие мистические истории’ (The Woman in Black and Other Mystical Stories), photo: publisher’s promotional materials

There are quite enough mystics and bone-chilling adventures in this novella, but it doesn’t lack in charm, which makes Statek Błaznów a cozy read, with an Old World feel. Sailors are famous for being first-class storytellers, and therefore the author conducts the narrative through the personage of an old ‘sea dog – a Rasmus Grotus. A storm is raging on the Baltic, ships cannot leave port, and sailors are entertaining each other with terrifying tales over mugs of grog. Grotus tells about his voyage to the shores of Italy, where circumstances forced him to spend several weeks in Naples, in a house whose owner, a beautiful Sicilian who was clearly had one foot in the spirit world. Our hero manages to escape from the ‘wicked apartment’, but the real tribulations lay ahead – at sea, he comes across a ghost ship.

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‘The Flying Dutchman’ by Albert Pinkham Ryder, photo: Wikipedia

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Return of the prodigal son

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Stanisław Maria Saliński, 1969, Warsaw, photo: Mirosław Stankiewicz / Forum

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The literary life of Stanisław Maria Saliński is somewhat reminiscent of the journey of Odysseus, with the difference that the writer didn’t return to his native harbor, but to one of his books. Saliński was born in 1902 in Primorsky Krai on Posyet Bay, to the family of a Polish lawyer who served there as the justice of the peace. Soon afterwards the Saliński family moved to Vladivostok, where the future author graduated from marine school, after which he spent several years sailing on merchant ships around the Indian and Pacific Oceans.

Curiously enough, Saliński wrote and published his first poems and short stories in Russian: in 1919, in Vladivostok, he closely associated with Russian futurists from the Balaganchik club and met David Burliuk and Nikolai Aseev. However, two years later Saliński moved to Warsaw, where he began to write in Polish. In 1928, his first book Opowieści Morskie (Sea Tales) came out. He also wrote poems, was part of the Kwadryga literary group, and befriended Konstanty Ildefons Gałczyński, who dedicated his famous poem ‘Małe Kina’ (Little Cinemas) to Saliński. It must be said that Saliński did not belong to those writer-marine painters, who exploited only the theme of the sea all their lives. After the war, he enjoyed great success with readers for his crime novels written under the pseudonym Jerzy Seweryn – Barbaro Kłamiesz (Barbara, You’re Lying, 1946) and Za Jeden Twój Uśmiech, Joanno (For One of Your Smiles, Joanna, 1947). Today they are considered classics of Polish detective literature.

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Świnoujście, photo: Artur Kubasik/ AG

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The majority of Saliński’s ‘serious’ sea novels – Hieroglif (Hieroglyphics, 1957), Anna z Kamienia (Anna from Kamień, 1962), Pożegnanie z Pacyfikiem (Farewell to the Pacific, 1963) – are dedicated to the Far East and the vast Pacific. Critics wrote that Saliński’s books were infused with the aroma of ginger and Indian lemon, vanilla and pepper, Himalayan musk, Central Asian mountains and sea salt, and called the atmosphere of his books ‘narcotic’.

Cover of ‘Birds Return to Dreams’ by C. M. Saliński, photo: publisher’s promotional materials

This ‘Far Eastern cycle’ wraps up with the book Ptaki Powracają do Snów (Birds Return to Dreams, 1964), which is subtitled ‘A True Story. A Dream Story’. In it, Saliński described the Primorye of his youth, the country he called a lost paradise, and the pages of this story truly do seem to be covered with the thin haze of a dream. It was with this book that Stanisław Maria Saliński, like Odysseus after his long and difficult voyage, returned to his native land, to the Far East – and it happened in 2015, 45 years after the writer’s death, when one of Vladivostok’s publishing houses printed Ptaki Powracają do Snów translated into Russian by Andrei Sapelkin.

In search of stars

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The Starfish, photo: Patrick Fix/ East News

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The fourth book of prose by famous contemporary Polish writer and poet Julia Fiedorczuk, Bliskie Kraje (Close Countries, 2016) is a collection of stories, each of which leaves in the reader’s soul a twinging and sweet splinter of unsolved mystery, bright sadness and endless love for this cruel, enigmatic and beautiful world. As if you are standing on the seashore which, slowly plunging into a thick milky-white fog, disappears under the waves.

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Julia Fiedorczuk, photo: Filip Klimaszewski / Agencja Gazeta

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One of the collection’s best pieces – Rozgwiazda (The Starfish) – transports us to a rocky, sun-scorched island in the middle of a warm and gentle sea. But is it gentle? The feeling of inexplicable anxiety and a grim mystery, which it seems we are about to solve, is conveyed by the author absolutely phenomenally. Fortunately, this wasn’t all lost in the magnificent Russian translation by Sergei Mikhailov.

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Pier in Kołobrzeg, photo: Robert Neumann / Forum

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The heroine of Rozgwiazda (more precisely, the storyteller, since the story is written in the form of a diary) – a no-longer-young woman, the secretary to a late, world-famous writer and Polish emigrant – comes, a year after his death, to her boss’s villa on a small island, presumably somewhere in the Mediterranean. She is coming to put his papers in order and find the manuscript of his chief masterpiece, the novel Europa, which the writer worked on in the final years of his life. The sun mercilessly beats down on the island, and the nearness of the sea turns out to be a real salvation. Furthermore, the sea, much like Lem’s Ocean is clearly trying to communicate something to the heroine: at night it drowns out her train of thought with the crash of waves (‘At first it seemed too monotonous to me, but over time I began to distinguish a certain pattern in it. (…) I lay in bed and listened, almost sure it was telling me something’), leaves signs in the water (‘The water was thick with black hearts. Having gotten a better look at them, I realised that these were burnt leaves’), something constantly looms on its horizon (‘A buoy? A shell of a great sea turtle? A small boat?’), as if the heroine is being watched.

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Beach in Dębki, photo: Kacper Kowalski / Forum

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The key metaphor in this tale is a starfish – caught, in the presence of the heroine, by a Polish tourist:

I dreamed of a starfish. Then I read on the Internet that sea stars hunt mainly for mollusks – bivalves and snails. They attach themselves to their victims with their suckers. [...] I thought again about the starfish, about their nightly feasts. These creatures are very slow, but successful. In the gloomy depths of the sea, they creep after their prey, and if they grasp it in their strong arms, they will not let go.

Trans. KA

Gradually we realize that the tactics of starfish, who completely absorb the shellfish they eat, preliminarily coating their victim in their own gastric juices – is the modus operandi of the story’s heroine: having dedicated the best years of her life to editing the manuscripts of a literary celebrity, she, even after his death, tries through inertia to feed herself with another’s genius. Yet it can’t be ruled out that the novel Europa, which has been so awaited for by publishers, critics, and readers, she would now have to write herself…

Corsairs of the Polish Republic

Cover of ‘Galeon Kapitana Mory’ (The Galleon of Captain Mory) by Jerzy Rychliński, photo: publisher’s promotional materials

When the topic turns to sea adventure fiction, Stevenson’s Treasure Island, Sabatini’s Captain Blood, Mayne Reid’s The Boy Tar, and Cooper’s The Red Rover immediately come to mind. But Polish writers have also contributed to the collection of fascinating stories about sea battles, long voyages, and geographical discoveries. Naturally, in doing so they have often turned to stories from Polish history – for example, there’s the writer Jerzy Rychliński, author of the bestseller Galeon Kapitana Mory (The Galleon of Captain Mory, 1956), which takes place on the historical background of the Battle of Oliwa – the decisive naval engagement in the Gulf of Danzig in 1627 between the Polish Republic’s navy and Swedish ships.

Cover of ‘Galeony Wojny’ (Galleons of War) by Jacek Komuda, photo: publisher’s promotional materials

Своеобразным учебником истории пиратства можно назвать сборник рассказов Яцека Маховского «Под черным флагом» («Pod czarnaą banderą», 1967).

Pod Czarną Banderą (Under the Black Flag, 1967), a collection of stories by Jacek Machowski, can be called a kind of textbook on the history of piracy. And one of the tales forming Wiesław Andrzejewski’s Piracki Tryptyk (Pirate Triptych, 1980), tells of a woman, who after the death of her pirate husband, took command over the ‘orphaned gang’ of sea bandits – and it turned out that a woman could ply this dangerous trade as well as any man. As for historical novels, Jacek Komuda continues this tradition with success in the 21st century. His novel Galeony Wojny (Galleons of War, 2007) tells about the Swedish blockade of Gdańsk during the war between Sweden and Poland for domination in the Baltic during the first half of the 17th century.

A fly in amber

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Amber harvesting competition, Gdańsk, photo: Dominik Sadowski / AG

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The seashore is not only an ideal backdrop for romantic relations. Many authors of detective novels, including Polish ones, occasionally choose picturesque beaches and coves as the scene of blood-curdling crimes, chase sequences, fights with villains, and clever investigations. For beach lovers who want to test their nerves a bit, I would recommend the following two books by legends of Polish crime writing.

Thumbnail — Cover of ‘The Golden Fly’ by Joanna Chmielewska, photo: publisher’s promotional materials

Złota Mucha (The Golden Fly, 1998), a novel by ‘the queen of ironic whodunnits’ Joanna Chmielewska, is a singular Polish answer to The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins – only Chmielewska’s characters are seeking not an Indian diamond, but an enormous piece of amber with an ancient ‘inclusion’, a handsome prehistoric fly, frozen into it. Like in Chmielewska’s other novels, the search for the unique ‘sun stone’ and the investigation of the murder associated with it is conducted by the charming, sharp-tongued and damned observant Ms Joanna. Amongst other things, Złota Mucha can serve as a good guide to the Vistula Spit – the most picturesque corner of the Baltic with its famous resort Krynica Morska and the town of Piaski. And the descriptions of the sea coast in those hours when it’s ‘raining amber’ can infect any sceptic with ‘amber fever’:

The sun is shining in full force, and in its bright rays, I can clearly see along the entire beach a golden strip running away into infinity. I already knew what the strip was, but it was too difficult to believe in such incredible happiness. I came across amber either in the form of jewelry or in the form of tiny pieces, which in Sopot, if I was very lucky, I could fill a matchbox with in a week. It never occurred to me that such a fabulous abundance as this was possible at all. Frozen, I stared at this beauty, afraid to blink, afraid to catch my breath – what if it's just a mirage? No, the golden ribbon glittered stubbornly in the sunlight.

Trans. KA

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Beach in Władysławowo, photo: Łukasz Dejnarowicz / Forum

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The plot of Marek Krajewski and Mariusz Czubaj’s book Róże Cmentarne (Cemetery Roses, 2009) also takes place on Poland’s Baltic coast – just a bit to the west, in the vicinity of the popular seaside resort Władysławowo. Jarosław Pater, a Gdańsk police commissioner, comes to this place in order to catch a serial murderer.

Cover of 'Cemetery Roses' by Mariusz Czubaj and Marek Krajewski, photo: press materials of the publishing house

Tourist season is at its height – beer flows like a river on the beaches, the lights of discoes shine, and the sand vibrates with loud dance music. But Commissioner Pater is not here for entertainment: while trying to follow the trail of a criminal, he is at the same time forced to sort out his extremely confusing relationship with a resident of Darlowo, another local resort town. Pater, like the proverbial fly in a drop of amber resin, is more and more entrapped in a web of omissions, half-hints, verbal barbs from his lover, and strange and ominous clues left for him by the murderer, a fan of tattoos and hard rock. Will the commissioner manage to apprehend the criminal and find long-awaited personal happiness? The reader must wait until the final pages of the novel to find out.

A beach cocktail à la Conrad

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Peter O’Toole in ‘Lord Jim’, directed by Richard Brooks, 1965, photo: Sony Pictures Repertory

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When ordering dinner on the seaside, it would be a shame to neglect the opportunity to drink an aperitif. The best option for this is the popular French cocktail the Kir (a mixture of the black-currant liqueur Crème de Cassis with a dry white wine) or its variation, the Kir Royal (the same liqueur but mixed with champagne). If you mix this famous Burgundy liqueur with mineral water, you may briefly feel like a character in Joseph Conrad’s psychological-adventure novel Lord Jim – this cocktail, called ‘Cassis à l’eau’, is drunk by a French sailor, one of the characters in this fascinating and enlightening book:

I had never seen that Frenchman before, and at the end of an hour we had done with each other for life: he did not seem particularly talkative either; he was a quiet, massive chap in a creased uniform, sitting drowsily over a tumbler half full of some dark liquid. [...] In the establishment where we sat one could get a variety of foreign drinks which were kept for the visiting naval officers, and he took a sip of the dark medical-looking stuff, which probably was nothing more nasty than cassis a l’eau, and glancing with one eye into the tumbler, shook his head slightly.

Trans KA.

You of course have every right to ask – what relation does the outstanding English writer Joseph Conrad, author of the iconic Heart of Darkness, have to Poland and Polish literature? The fact is, Conrad is a Pole by birth, and his real name is Józef Teodor Konrad Korzeniowski. The father of the future writer, Apollo Nałęcz-Korzeniowski, was a Polish poet and dramatist; he took part in the preparation for the January Uprising of 1863, for which he was exiled by the tsarist authorities to Vologda. And Conrad himself, before becoming a world-famous author, went to sea for around 20 years – first as a simple sailor, then as a helmsman, and then as a captain.

But the sea did not leave Conrad even after he moved from the captain’s bridge to the writing desk: his best works – such as Typhoon and Lord Jim – tell of ocean adventures and the ‘toilers of the sea’. Incidentally, at the very beginning of his naval career, even before he received British citizenship, Conrad-Korzeniowski spent four years sailing the tropical seas under the French flag. That’s where he received firsthand knowledge of the culinary and alcoholic preferences of the French sailors mentioned in Lord Jim.

Originally written in Russian, translated by Kat Albierti, Jun 2021

Language English