Wisława Szymborska Quotes

Funny little thing. How could she know that even despair can work for you if you’re lucky enough to outlive it. I’d

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.

Most of the earth's inhabitants work to get by. They work because they have to. They didn't pick this or that occupation out of passion; the circumstances of their lives did the choosing for them.

When they said he didn’t exist, he couldn’t die of grief, so he had to be born. He’s already out there living somewhere; he blinks his little eyes and grows.

I don't reproach the spring
for starting up again.
I can't blame it
for doing what it must
year after year.

I know that my grief
will not stop the green.

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.

SENKA

Moja senka kao dvorska luda za kraljicom.
Kad kraljica sa stolice ustane,
luda se na zidu nakostreši
i u plafon glupom glavom udari.

Što može u dvodimenzionalnom svetu
na svoj način boli.
Možda je ludi na mom dvoru loše
i sebe bi u drugoj ulozi volela.

Kraljica će se kroz prozor nagnuti,
a luda s prozora dole skočiti.
Svaku aktivnost su podelile,
ali ne na pola.

Onaj prostak na sebe uzeo gestove,
patos i svu njegovu bestidnost,
to je sve, za šta snage nemam– za krunu, žezlo, kraljevski plašt.

Biću, ah, laka u pokretima ramena,
ah, laka u okretanju glave,
kralju, pri našem oproštaju,
kralju, na železničkoj stanici.

Kralju, u to vreme luda će,
kralju, leći na železničke šine.

a stone / which in its own archaic, simpleminded way / sees life as a chain of failed attempts.

Secret codes resound. Doubts and intentions come to light.

True love. Is it normal
is it serious, is it practical?
What does the world get from two people
who exist in a world of their own?

He's no end of fun, for all you say. Poor little beggar. A human, if ever we saw one.

"Classifieds"

WHOEVER’S found out what location
compassion (heart’s imagination)
can be contacted at these days,
is herewith urged to name the place;
and sing about it in full voice,
and dance like crazy and rejoice
beneath the frail birch that appears
to be upon the verge of tears.

I TEACH silence
in all languages
through intensive examination of:
the starry sky,
the Sinanthropus’ jaws,
a grasshopper’s hop,
an infant’s fingernails,
plankton,
a snowflake.

I RESTORE lost love.
Act now! Special offer!
You lie on last year’s grass
bathed in sunlight to the chin
while winds of summers past
caress your hair and seem
to lead you in a dance.
For further details, write: “Dream.”

WANTED: someone to mourn
the elderly who die
alone in old folks’ homes.
Applicants, don’t send forms
or birth certificates.
All papers will be torn,
no receipts will be issued
at this or later dates.

FOR PROMISES made by my spouse,
who’s tricked so many with his sweet
colors and fragrances and sounds–
dogs barking, guitars in the street–
into believing that they still
might conquer loneliness and fright,
I cannot be responsible.
Mr. Day’s widow, Mrs. Night.

Life While-You-Wait.
Performance without rehearsal.
Body without alterations.
Head without premeditation.
I know nothing of the role I play.
I only know it’s mine. I can’t exchange it.
I have to guess on the spot
just what this play’s all about.
Ill-prepared for the privilege of living,
I can barely keep up with the pace that the action demands.
I improvise, although I loathe improvisation.
I trip at every step over my own ignorance.
I can’t conceal my hayseed manners.
My instincts are for happy histrionics.
Stage fright makes excuses for me, which humiliate me more.
Extenuating circumstances strike me as cruel.
Words and impulses you can’t take back,
stars you’ll never get counted,
your character like a raincoat you button on the run — the pitiful results of all this unexpectedness.
If only I could just rehearse one Wednesday in advance,
or repeat a single Thursday that has passed!
But here comes Friday with a script I haven’t seen.
Is it fair, I ask
(my voice a little hoarse,
since I couldn’t even clear my throat offstage).
You’d be wrong to think that it’s just a slapdash quiz
taken in makeshift accommodations. Oh no.
I’m standing on the set and I see how strong it is.
The props are surprisingly precise.
The machine rotating the stage has been around even longer.
The farthest galaxies have been turned on.
Oh no, there’s no question, this must be the premiere.
And whatever I do
will become forever what I’ve done.

Forgive me, distant wars, for bringing flowers home.

The Three Oddest Words

When I pronounce the word Future,
the first syllable already belongs to the past.
When I pronounce the word Silence,
I destroy it.
When I pronounce the word nothing,
I make something no nonbeing can hold.