Wisława Szymborska Quotes

I lost a few goddesses while moving south to north and also some gods while moving east to west.

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.

A che serve qui chiedersi
sotto quante stelle nasce l'uomo,
e sotto quante dopo un attimo muore.

Musi być do wyboru,
Zmieniać się, żeby tylko nic się nie zmieniło.
To łatwe, niemożliwe, trudne, warte próby.
Oczy ma, jeśli trzeba, raz modre, raz szare,
Czarne, wesołe, bez powodu pełne łez
Śpi z nim jak pierwsza z brzegu, jedyna na świecie.
Urodzi mu czworo dzieci, żadnych dzieci, jedno.
Naiwna, ale najlepiej doradzi.
Słaba, ale udźwignie.
Nie ma głowy na karku, to będzie ją miała.
Czyta Jaspersa i pisma kobiece.
Nie wie po co ta śrubka i zbuduje most.
Młoda, jak zwykle młoda, ciągle jeszcze młoda.
Trzyma w rękach wróbelka ze złamanym skrzydłem,
własne pieniądze na podróż daleką i długą,
tasak do mięsa, kompres i kieliszek czystej.
Dokąd tak biegnie, czy nie jest zmęczona.
Ależ nie, tylko trochę, bardzo, nic nie szkodzi.
Albo go kocha albo się uparła.
Na dobre, na niedobre i na litość boską.

How should we live? someone asked me in a letter.
I had meant to ask him
the same question.

0 likes

I felt age within me. Distance. The futility of wandering. Torpor. I looked back setting my bundle down. I looked back not knowing where to set my foot. Serpents appeared on my path, spiders, field mice, baby vultures. They were neither good nor evil now — every living thing was simply creeping or hopping along in the mass panic.

I'm sorry that my voice was hard. Look down on yourselves from the stars, I cried, look down on yourselves from the stars. They heard me and lowered their eyes.

Dying - you can't do that to a cat.

I shake my memory. Maybe something in its branches that has been asleep for years will start up with a flutter.<p>No. Clearly I'm asking too much. Nothing less than one whole second.

Show me your little poem and I'll tell you why it wasn't written any earlier or later than it was.<p>Oh no, you've got me wrong. Keep your funny piece of paper with its scribbles. All I need for my ends is your layer of dirt and the long gone smell of burning.