Wisława Szymborska Quotes

Even a passing moment has its fertile past.

So what can they tell us, the writers of dream books,
the scholars of oneiric signs and omens,
the doctors with couches for analyses — if anything fits,
it’s accidental,
and for one reason only,
that in our dreamings,
in their shadowings and gleamings,
in their multiplings, inconceivablings,
in their haphazardings and widescatterings
at times even a clear-cut meaning
may slip through.

Woods disguised as woods alive without end, and above them birds in flight play birds in flight.

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

Po każdej wojnie ktoś musi posprzątać.

Dividing earth and sky
is not the right way
to think about this wholeness.
It only allows one to live
at a more precise address — were I to be searched for
I'd be found much faster.
My distinguishing marks
are rapture and despair.

From 'Sky', in the collection 'Miracle Fair

Czemu ty się, zła godzino,
z niepotrzebnym mieszasz lękiem?
Jesteś - a więc musisz minąć.
Miniesz - a więc to jest piękne

...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.

Would we really be driven to darkest despair by the news that life doesn’t exist beyond Earth? (…) But let’s stop and think about such a revelation. Would that really be the worst of all possible news? Perhaps just the opposite — it would sober us, brace us, teach us mutual respect, point us toward a slightly more human way of life? Perhaps we wouldn’t talk so much nonsense, tell so many lies, if we knew that they were echoing throughout the cosmos? Maybe a single, other life would finally gain the value it deserves, the value of a phenomenon, a revelation, a specimen unique to the entire universe?

Czytanie książek to najpiękniejsza zabawa, jaką sobie ludzkość wymyśliła.

We all use phrases such as ‘the ordinary world,’ ‘ordinary life,’ ‘the ordinary course of events.’ But in the language of poetry, nothing is usual or normal. Not a single stone and not a single cloud above it. Not a single day and not a single night after it. And above all, not a single existence, not anyone’s existence in this world.

"Мъжко стопанство

Той е от тези мъже, дето всичко си вършат самички.
Трябва да го обичаш със все шкафчета и полички.
С онова, което е в тях или навън се подава.
Няма вещ, която съхранение не заслужава.
Чукчета, клещи, длета и свредели, и епруветки,
гвоздеи, шнурчета, дюбели разни, някакви четки,
тубички от лепило, колекция камъни речни,
менгеме и наковалня, бурканче с тайнствена течност,
стар будилник, край него - всичките извадени части,
мъртъв бръмбар в шишенце, флакончета, смазки и пасти,
летвички къси и дълги, уплътнения, кламери,
три пера от водна кокошка от езерото Мамри,
няколко тапи от шампанско, затънали във цимент,
две стъкълца, потъмнели при някакъв експеримент,
плочки, дъсчици и гумички, картончета дребни,
които били са или пък ще бъдат потребни,
ключове цяла дузина, кожа, ръкави от дрешка,
някакви дръжки за нещо, и прашка съвсем момчешка...
Да изхвърлим - попитах - част от богатството прашно?
Този, когото обичам, изгледа ме страшно.

"Męskie gospodarstwo"
превод: Иван Вълев"

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.

"След всяка война
някой трябва да разтреби.

"Край и начало

البغض
لا نخدع أنفسنا :
هو يستطيع أن يبدع الجمال
عظيمة هي اتقاداته في الليلة المظلمة
رائعة هي خصلاته انفجاراته في الغبش الوردي
هو سيد التناقض
بين الضجيج و السكينة
بين الدم القاني و الثلج الأبيض