They say the first sentence in any speech is always the hardest. Well, that one’s behind me, anyway. - Wisława Szymborska

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They say the first sentence in any speech is always the hardest. Well, that one’s behind me, anyway.

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About Wisława Szymborska

Wisława Szymborska-Włodek (2 July 1923 – 1 February 2012) was a Polish poet, essayist and translator. She was awarded the 1996 Nobel Prize in Literature. She was bestowed the title of Lady of the Order of the White Eagle in 2011. She was a member of the Polish Writers Association (1989) and the Polish Academy of Skills (1995).

Biography information from Wikiquote

Also Known As

Alternative Names: Maria Wisława Anna Szymborska Szymborska Wislawa Szymborska
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Additional quotes by Wisława Szymborska

"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.

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.

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