Wisława Szymborska Quotes

Whose side are you on?" "I don't know." "This is a war, you've got to choose." "I don't know." "Does your village still exist?" "I don't know." "Are those your children?" "Yes.

Here we are, naked lovers, beautiful to each other—and that's enough. The leaves of our eyelids our only covers, we're lying amidst deep night.

I've wanted to write about them for a long while,
but it's a tricky subject,
always put off for later
and perhaps worthy of a better poet,
even more stunned by the world than I.
But time is short. I write.

Our snakes have shed their lightning, our apes their flights of fancy, our peacocks have renounced their plumes. The bats flew out of our hair long ago.<p> We fall silent in mid-sentence, all smiles, past help. Our humans don't know how to talk to one another.

We treat each other with exceeding courtesy;
we says, it’s great to see you after all these years.

Our tigers drink milk.
Our hawks tread the ground.
Our sharks have all drowned.
Our wolves yawn beyond the open cage.

Our snakes have shed their lightning,
our apes their flights of fancy,
our peacocks have renounced their plumes.
The bats flew out of our hair long ago.

We fall silent in mid-sentence,
all smiles, past help.
Our humans
don’t know how to talk to one another.

Four billion people on this earth
but my imagination is still the same.
It's bad with large numbers.
It's still taken by particularity.
It flits in the dark like a flashlight,
illuminating only random faces
while all the rest go by,
never coming to mind and never really missed.

اليقظة لا تتلاشى
.كما تتلاشى الأحلام
لا همهمة ولا جرس
،يُبددها
لا صرخة أو جلبة
.تصدر عنها

مُشوشة ومُلتبسة
،هي صورُ الأحلام
.مما يدفع لتفسيرها بطرقٍ عديدة ومختلفة
،اليقظةُ تعني اليقظة
.وهذا هو اللغز الأكبر

للأحلام مفاتيح
،اليقظة تنفتح وحدها
.ولا تسمح بإغلاقها
،تتناثر منها الشهادات المدرسية والنجوم
تتساقط منها الفراشات
،وسخانات المكاوي القديمة
والقبعات بلا رؤوسها
.وجماجم الغيوم
يتكون من ذلك لغز
.لا يمكن حله

.بدوننا ما كان للأحلام أن تكون
والذي بدونه ما كانت اليقظة
،غيرُ معلوم
ونتاجُ أرقهِ
.يستغرق كل من يستيقظ

،ليست الأحلام هي المجنونة
،المجنونة اليقظة
،ولو بسبب الإصرار
الذي به تتشبث
.بمسيرة الأحداث

في الأحلام مازال
،يعيش من مات منا حديثا
يبدو أنه معافى
.ويتمتع بالشباب
اليقظة تطرح أمامنا
.جسده الميت
.اليقظة لا تتراجع قيد أنملة

،أثيرية الأحلام تجعل
.الذاكرة تتخلص منها بسهولة
.اليقظة لا تخاف من النسيان

يا لها من صلابة
،تتربع على كاهلنا
،تُثقل الصدر
.تتكوم تحت القدمين

،لا مفر منها
لأنها تُصاحبنا في كل مهرب
وليس هناك من محطة
على طريق رحلتنا
.دون أن تنتظرنا فيها

This adult male. This person on earth. Ten billion nerve cells. Ten pints of blood pumped by ten ounces of heart. This object took three billion years to emerge.

Loveless work, boring work, work valued only because others haven't got even that much, however loveless and boring — this is one of the harshest human miseries.

Every beginning, after all, is nothing but a sequel, and the book of events is always open in the middle.

"They're both convinced
that a sudden passion joined them.
Such certainty is beautiful,
but uncertainty is more beautiful still.

Since they'd never met before, they're sure
that there'd been nothing between them.
But what's the word from the streets, staircases, hallways — perhaps they've passed by each other a million times?

I want to ask them
if they don't remember — a moment face to face
in some revolving door?
perhaps a "sorry" muttered in a crowd?
a curt "wrong number" caught in the receiver?
but I know the answer.
No, they don't remember.

They'd be amazed to hear
that Chance has been toying with them
now for years.

Not quite ready yet
to become their Destiny,
it pushed them close, drove them apart,
it barred their path,
stifling a laugh,
and then leaped aside.

There were signs and signals,
even if they couldn't read them yet.
Perhaps three years ago
or just last Tuesday
a certain leaf fluttered
from one shoulder to another?
Something was dropped and then picked up.
Who knows, maybe the ball that vanished
into childhood's thicket?

There were doorknobs and doorbells
where one touch had covered another beforehand.
Suitcases checked and standing side by side.
One night, perhaps, the same dream,
grown hazy by morning.

Every beginning
is only a sequel, after all,
and the book of events
is always open halfway through."

Cierta gente huyendo de otra gente.
En cierto país bajo el sol
y bajo ciertas nubes.

there were doorknobs and doorbells
where one touch had covered another
beforehand.
suitcases checked and standing side by side.
one night, perhaps, the same dream
grown hazy by morning.

every beginning
is only a sequel, after all,
and the book of events
is always open halfway through.

Within him, there's awful darkness, in the darkness a small boy. <p> God of humor, do something about him, OK? God of humor, do something about him today.

The window has a wonderful view of a lake, but the view doesn't view itself. It exists in this world colorless, shapeless, soundless, odorless, and painless.