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An exciting collection of poems by Wislawa Szymborska When Here was published in Poland reviewers marveled “How is it that she keeps getting better?” These twenty seven poems as rendered by prize winning translators Clare Cavanagh and Stanislaw Baranczak are among her grea Keeping aside all the Tagore verses devoured and regurgitated in near by rote memorized answers in high school no disrespect meant towards Tagore but reuired reading bits of Eliot and Yeats and Neruda sampled in the last few years Wislawa Szymborska is the first and the only Nobel winning poet that I have picked up of my own free volition so far with no vague threats looming over my head of being chastised as a philistine I can like or dislike her as I wish to no English Lit students or academics are going to bay for my blood if I diss her on GR Now one cannot do that with Eliot or Yeats But thankfully I have no need for anticipating any possible backlash from besotted fanboysgirlsThese poems are deceptively easy to read and do not pose any significant challenge in understanding Szymborska's words do not leave any permanent etchings on the memory slate slipping away like sand grains held futilely inside a closed fist But they do leave a warm afterglow like the pleasant feeling one is left with immediately after sipping on a steaming cup of chai latteI breezed through this volume in under an hour wondering if I ought to have taken time to dwell on lines and tried harder to disinter buried meaning A second reading proved how redundant my effort was Szymborska writes with wit with wisdom with a childlike appreciation for life and its assorted uirks She does not play an unnecessary game of literary hide and seek in these verses She does not allude to Baudelaire or Thomas Middleton or the classics She does not imagine the world as a barren bleak wasteland or exalt artistic endeavour as the redeemer of all human barbarity or delineate the contours of the beloved's anatomy while depriving her of all vitality and agency Instead all her themes share a universality a timeless relevance that will appeal to poetry lovers across the spectrum of age gender and ethnicity She is gently sardonic mildly critical of war greed rabid materialism and the unruffled nature of everyday domesticity Wars wars warsBut there are pauses in between them tooAttention people are evilAt ease people are goodAt attention wastelands are createdAt ease houses are constructed in the sweat of browsand uickly inhabitedLife on Earth is uite a bargain Dreams for one don't charge admissionIllusions are costly only when lostThe body has its own installment planAnd as an extra added featureyou spin on the planets' carousel for freeand with it you hitch a ride on the intergalactic blizzardwith times so dizzyingthat nothing here on Earth can even tremble If her words appear too simple to merit poetic immortality then the uncanniness of her thoughts certainly does elicit awe Sometimes in a distinct throwback to a Doctor Who episode she imagines a rendezvous with her favorite already deceased Polish poet and the comical conversation that might follow between them Sometimes she wistfully contemplates impossible scenarios like an awkward meeting with her own teenage self The conversation stumblesOn her pathetic watchtime is still cheap and unsteadyOn mine it's far precious and precise Or accords a persona to her Memory so it becomes a character engaged in a sibling like love hate relationship with the poet She thrusts old letters snapshots at me eagerlystirs up events both important and un turns my eyes to overlooked viewspeoples them with my dead Grief is examined as unsentimentally as possible the aftermath of the death of a loved one dawning on the mourner slowly but with heartbreaking effect A divorce merely becomes a trigger for a calculated division of assets and trifles memories shared years but strangely enough Szymborska does not lose her casually jocular tone even here Unimaginable as it is there is a poem on microscopic organisms Even the essence of a complex subject like metaphysics which constitutes libraries' worth of discourse and theory is teased out deftly in a bare minimum of words A trite conclusion not worth writingif it weren't an unuestionable facta fact for ever and everfor the whole cosmos as it is and will bethat something really wasuntil it was goneeven the factthat today you had a side of fries There is a restrained kind of genius palpable in these poems At a perfunctory glance they may appear drab and uninspiring But Szymborska's brilliant but lucid thought patterns emerge on a closer reading some bearing startling new insight and carrying a whiff of some potent emotion too fleeting to pin down at once Perhaps she is not at her best here as Bloodorange if I remember correctly advised me against starting with this particular collection But I guess I liked this enough anyway Plague Harvest years Wislawa Szymborska is the first and the only Nobel winning poet that I have picked up of my own free volition so far with no vague threats looming over my head of being chastised as a philistine I can like or dislike her as I wish to no English Lit students or academics are going to bay for my blood if I diss her on GR Now one cannot do that with Eliot or Yeats But thankfully I have no need for anticipating any possible backlash from besotted fanboysgirlsThese poems are deceptively easy to read and do not pose any significant challenge in understanding Szymborska's words do not leave any permanent etchings on the memory slate slipping away like sand grains held futilely inside a closed fist But they do leave a warm afterglow like the pleasant feeling one is left with immediately after sipping on a steaming cup of chai latteI breezed through this volume in under an hour wondering if I ought to have taken time to dwell on lines and tried harder to disinter buried meaning A second reading proved how redundant my effort was Szymborska writes with wit with wisdom with a childlike appreciation for life and its assorted uirks She does not play an unnecessary game of literary hide and seek in these verses She does not allude to Baudelaire or Thomas Middleton or the classics She does not imagine the world as a barren bleak wasteland or exalt artistic endeavour as the redeemer of all human barbarity or delineate the contours of the beloved's anatomy while depriving her of all vitality and agency Instead all her themes share a universality a timeless relevance that will appeal to poetry lovers across the spectrum of age gender and ethnicity She is gently sardonic mildly critical of war greed rabid materialism and the unruffled nature of everyday domesticity Wars wars warsBut there are pauses in between them tooAttention people are evilAt ease people are goodAt attention wastelands are createdAt ease houses are constructed in the sweat of browsand uickly inhabitedLife on Earth is uite a bargain Dreams for one don't charge admissionIllusions are costly only when lostThe body has its own installment planAnd as an extra added featureyou spin on the planets' carousel for freeand with it How Not to F*** Them Up you hitch a ride on the intergalactic blizzardwith times so dizzyingthat nothing here on Earth can even tremble If her words appear too simple to merit poetic immortality then the uncanniness of her thoughts certainly does elicit awe Sometimes in a distinct throwback to a Doctor Who episode she imagines a rendezvous with her favorite already deceased Polish poet and the comical conversation that might follow between them Sometimes she wistfully contemplates impossible scenarios like an awkward meeting with her own teenage self The conversation stumblesOn her pathetic watchtime is still cheap and unsteadyOn mine it's far precious and precise Or accords a persona to her Memory so it becomes a character engaged in a sibling like love hate relationship with the poet She thrusts old letters snapshots at me eagerlystirs up events both important and un turns my eyes to overlooked viewspeoples them with my dead Grief is examined as unsentimentally as possible the aftermath of the death of a loved one dawning on the mourner slowly but with heartbreaking effect A divorce merely becomes a trigger for a calculated division of assets and trifles memories shared Darkland years but strangely enough Szymborska does not lose her casually jocular tone even here Unimaginable as it is there is a poem on microscopic organisms Even the essence of a complex subject like metaphysics which constitutes libraries' worth of discourse and theory is teased out deftly in a bare minimum of words A trite conclusion not worth writingif it weren't an unuestionable facta fact for ever and everfor the whole cosmos as it is and will bethat something really wasuntil it was goneeven the factthat today Spirit Babies: How to Communicate with the Child You're Meant to Have you had a side of fries There is a restrained kind of genius palpable in these poems At a perfunctory glance they may appear drab and uninspiring But Szymborska's brilliant but lucid thought patterns emerge on a closer reading some bearing startling new insight and carrying a whiff of some potent emotion too fleeting to pin down at once Perhaps she is not at her best here as Bloodorange if I remember correctly advised me against starting with this particular collection But I guess I liked this enough anyway

Summary ✓ PDF, eBook or Kindle ePUB free ´ Wisława Szymborska

Tutaj by Wisława Szymborska

Test work Whether writing about her teenage self microscopic creatures or the upsides to living on Earth she remains a virtuoso of form line and thought From the title poem I can’t speak for elsewhere but here on Earth we’ve got a fair supply of everything Here we manufact “A Hard Life With MemoryI’m a poor audience for my memoryShe wants me to attend her voice nonstopbut I fidget fusslisten and don’tstep out come back then leave againShe wants all my time and attentionShe’s got no problem when I sleepThe day’s a different matter which upsets herShe thrusts old letters snapshots at me eagerlystirs up events both important and un turns my eyes to overlooked viewspeoples them with my deadIn her stories I’m always youngerWhich is nice but why always the same storyEvery mirror holds different news for meShe gets angry when I shrug my shouldersAnd takes revenge by hauling out old errorsweighty but easily forgottenLooks into my eyes checks my reactionThen comforts me it could be worseShe wants me to live only for her and with herIdeally in a dark locked roombut my plans still feature today’s sunclouds in progress ongoing roadsAt times I get fed up with herI suggest a separation From now to eternityThen she smiles at me with pitysince she knows it would be the end of me too”

Summary Tutaj by Wisława Szymborska

Ure chairs and sorrows scissors tenderness transistors violins teacups dams and uips Like nowhere else or almost nowhere you’re given your own torso here euipped with the accessories reuired for adding your own children to the rest Not to mention arms legs and astonished hea The last week or so has been kind of terrible due to various reasons It has forced me to ask uestions that I didn't want to ask and consider things that I just didn't want to ever consider Somehow although nothing has technically changed it feels like this week was life changing I feel like I've grown I can feel the direction of my life shifting during this week my priorities are no longer the same and I'm not sure if they'll ever return to what they were or if I'm happy with where they are now That's incredibly jarring future me is probably rolling their eyes about this dramatic statement And when things go terribly I am so very grateful poets like Szymborska exist It genuinely felt like she was speaking to me in the most self centered way possible Her words were a huge comfort It was like visiting a grandparent and having them give you perspective that everything is going to be fine even when it all feels like it's collapsing into itself I'm pretty sure that I've cried times this week than in the past three months but this is fine because as Szymborska says You may choose where to be or not to be to overpass or pull over only not to overlook I don't know why these poems spoke so much to me Is it because there's something comforting about a Nobel winning poet so deeply paranoid about people writing better poetry than her? Or perhaps it's because these poems are so intimate? They're dark and light at the same time The body has its own installment plan they're descriptive and they're gentle Usually when I think about famous writers I imagine thick prose and big words but Szymborska writes clearly and elegantly without needing to thicken her wordsI have so much to do and this week is far from being over but I'm so glad I took an hour to read this I hope it'll stay with me that I'll be able to hold on to Szymborska's thoughts on dreams labyrinths faith family and poetry If you're looking for some poetry I really think you can't go wrong with this collection   What I'm Taking With Me It feels a little wrong to count this as my Polish book for my reading challenge because the poems here are so international but at the same time I don't have any other idea for a Polish book and well she is Polish I'm positive at least some of my panic is coming from the realization that my birthday is coming up and I'm already starting up with the anxiety  And I'm just so so tired who knew critical thinking was so exhausting


10 thoughts on “Tutaj by Wisława Szymborska

  1. says:

    Keeping aside all the Tagore verses devoured and regurgitated in near by rote memorized answers in high school no disrespect meant towards Tagore but reuired reading bits of Eliot and Yeats and Neruda sampled in the last few years Wislawa Szymborska is the first and the only Nobel winning poet that I have picked up of my own free volition so far with no vague threats looming over my head of being chastised as a philistine I can like or dislike her as I wish to no English Lit students or academics are going to bay for my blood if I diss her on GR Now one cannot do that with Eliot or Yeats But thankfully I have no need for anticipating any possible backlash from besotted fanboysgirlsThese poems are deceptively easy to read and do not pose any significant challenge in understanding Szymborska's words do not leave any permanent etchings on the memory slate slipping away like sand grains held futilely inside a closed fist But they do leave a warm afterglow like the pleasant feeling one is left with immediately after sipping on a steaming cup of chai latteI breezed through this volume in under an hour wondering if I ought to have taken time to dwell on lines and tried harder to disinter buried meaning A second reading proved how redundant my effort was Szymborska writes with wit with wisdom with a childlike appreciation for life and its assorted uirks She does not play an unnecessary game of literary hide and seek in these verses She does not allude to Baudelaire or Thomas Middleton or the classics She does not imagine the world as a barren bleak wasteland or exalt artistic endeavour as the redeemer of all human barbarity or delineate the contours of the beloved's anatomy while depriving her of all vitality and agency Instead all her themes share a universality a timeless relevance that will appeal to poetry lovers across the spectrum of age gender and ethnicity She is gently sardonic mildly critical of war greed rabid materialism and the unruffled nature of everyday domesticity Wars wars warsBut there are pauses in between them tooAttention people are evilAt ease people are goodAt attention wastelands are createdAt ease houses are constructed in the sweat of browsand uickly inhabitedLife on Earth is uite a bargain Dreams for one don't charge admissionIllusions are costly only when lostThe body has its own installment planAnd as an extra added featureyou spin on the planets' carousel for freeand with it you hitch a ride on the intergalactic blizzardwith times so dizzyingthat nothing here on Earth can even tremble If her words appear too simple to merit poetic immortality then the uncanniness of her thoughts certainly does elicit awe Sometimes in a distinct throwback to a Doctor Who episode she imagines a rendezvous with her favorite already deceased Polish poet and the comical conversation that might follow between them Sometimes she wistfully contemplates impossible scenarios like an awkward meeting with her own teenage self The conversation stumblesOn her pathetic watchtime is still cheap and unsteadyOn mine it's far precious and precise Or accords a persona to her Memory so it becomes a character engaged in a sibling like love hate relationship with the poet She thrusts old letters snapshots at me eagerlystirs up events both important and un turns my eyes to overlooked viewspeoples them with my dead Grief is examined as unsentimentally as possible the aftermath of the death of a loved one dawning on the mourner slowly but with heartbreaking effect A divorce merely becomes a trigger for a calculated division of assets and trifles memories shared years but strangely enough Szymborska does not lose her casually jocular tone even here Unimaginable as it is there is a poem on microscopic organisms Even the essence of a complex subject like metaphysics which constitutes libraries' worth of discourse and theory is teased out deftly in a bare minimum of words A trite conclusion not worth writingif it weren't an unuestionable facta fact for ever and everfor the whole cosmos as it is and will bethat something really wasuntil it was goneeven the factthat today you had a side of fries There is a restrained kind of genius palpable in these poems At a perfunctory glance they may appear drab and uninspiring But Szymborska's brilliant but lucid thought patterns emerge on a closer reading some bearing startling new insight and carrying a whiff of some potent emotion too fleeting to pin down at once Perhaps she is not at her best here as Bloodorange if I remember correctly advised me against starting with this particular collection But I guess I liked this enough anyway


  2. says:

    She wants me to live only for her and with her Ideally in a dark locked room but my plans still feature today’s sun clouds in progress ongoing roads With this singular clarity Wislawa Szymborska views memory By running a casual yet assertive hand she makes the memory cursive; memory that is stitched into seamless minute knots connecting the present illuminating the present Here is a solace a silent hurrah Written in small fresh bud like paragraphs this collection of poems comes with the agenda of a butterfly – fragile at first sight intriguing at second sight rejuvenating at third sight and unforgettable after its flight Since her love for art found life and prosperity under difficult turbulent times her perspective emerged as a rough cut diamond And so I have before me two views in one a mournful cemetery made of tiny eternal rests or rising from the sea the azure sea dazzling white cliffs cliffs that are here because they are So she says about death and argues whether the event in itself deserves an eulogy or the legacy it has left behind doesShe expresses her relief in witnessing the continuity of life despite fatal twists and turns and in doing so becomes the possessor of a rare comforting clairvoyance She balances the animate and inanimate in the same sentence annulling any tremulous ideas pushing the divide So while she challenges the motives of fanatics and dictators and dismisses the inflammable rouettes of opportunists and cynics she also finds happiness in stepping back when life beats her with its wisdom She writes in deceptively easy streams words that almost uietly go past an onlooker But once an undercurrent from her observant vase touches a dangling feet it becomes nigh impossible to hold back the curiosity Wislawa Szymborska came across as a content wanderer to me who after collecting the green as well as brown leaves on the path of life learnt to care for both keeping their existence safe in the vaults of her eyes and memory


  3. says:

    Tutaj Here Wisława Szymborska An exciting collection of poems by Wislawa SzymborskaFrom the title poem HereI can’t speak for elsewherebut here on Earth we’ve got a fair supply of everythingHere we manufacture chairs and sorrowsscissors tenderness transistors violins teacups dams and uips Like nowhere else or almost nowhereyou’re given your own torso hereeuipped with the accessories reuiredfor adding your own children to the restNot to mention arms legs and astonished headتاریخ نخستین خوانش روز هجدهم ماه می سال 2016 میلادیعنوان اینجا؛ نویسنده ویسلاوا ویسواوا شیمبورسکا؛ مترجم بهمن طالبی نژاد؛ تهران، نشر چشمه، 1394؛ در 70 ص؛ شابک 9786002294043؛ موضوع شعر شاعران معاصر لهستانی سده 20 ماین کتاب در دسترسم نبود، شعر زیر را از کتاب «هیچ چیز دو بار اتفاق نمیافتد»؛ با عنوان «چند کلمه در باره روح»؛ برایتان مینشانم حتما بخوانیدما، بعضی وقتها روح داریم؛کسی نیست که بتواندآن را بی وقفه داشته باشدممکن است روزهای متمادیو سالهای بسیاری بگذرند؛بدون اینکه روحی داشته باشیمبعضی وقتهاتنها برای لحظه ایدر ترسها و خوشیهای دوران کودکی جای میگیرد؛گاهی هم تنها و در سرگشتگی و حیرت ازاینکه چقدر پیر شده ایمخیلی به ندرت پیش میآیدکه در کارهای دشوار و خسته کننده یاریمان کند؛همچو جابجا کردن اثاث خانه؛یا بالا بردن چمدانها؛یا فرسنگها راه رفتنبا کفشهایی که پا را آزار میدهندمعمولاً هر آنگاه که گوشتی باید خُرد شود؛یا فرمی که باید پُر شودپایش را از ماجرا کنار میکشداز هر هزار مکالمه؛تنها در یکی شرکت میکند؛تازه اگر بخواهد؛چون معمولاً سکوت را ترجیح میدهددرست وقتی که بدنمان از درد، رنجور میشوداو به مرخصی رفته، و سرِ کار نیستخیلی وسواسی و نکته بین است دوست ندارد ما را در جاهای شلوغ و پر سر و صدا ببینددوست ندارد ببیند برای رسیدن به یک سود مشکوک، بقیه را فریب میدهیمو نقشه های پیچیده و پنهانی، حالش را بهم میزنندشادی و اندوه؛برایش دو حس متفاوت نیستند؛تنها آنگاه با ما همراه میشودکه این دو، با هم باشندآنگاه که از هیچ چیز مطمئن نیستیم؛یا وقتی برای دانستن هر چیزی، اشتیاق داریم؛میتوانیم رویش حساب کنیماز بین چیزهای مادی؛ساعتهای پاندولدار را ترجیح میدهد؛و آینه ها را، که به کارشان ادامه میدهند؛حتی وقتی کسی بهشان نگاه نمیکندنمیگوید از کجا آمده است؛یا دوباره کِی برای همیشه میرود؛هرچند چنین پرسشهایی هماره پیش میآیندما به او نیاز داریم؛اما ظاهراًاو هم به دلایلینیازمند ماست پایان نقل شعر ا شربیانی


  4. says:

    Here hereIn this moment whenThoughts that visit me on a busy streetrun amok into An Idea that is IOf how Hard Life with memory isand how much harder it would be without itA Teenager crossing the street it is memy realities will be Assassins for all his dreamsA Microcosmos living inside these linesrestless Foraminifera of words and meaningBefore a journey already seeking Divorce with their poetVermeer Dreams of Ella in Heavenand his women a Portrait from MemoryIdentification they did seek for when he was alivein Nonreading eyes of societyA Highway accident I imagined oncesitting by myself In a Mail CoachA Labyrinth of Metaphysics had been the reasonfor the driver's Absence of mindIn fact every poemeven this for Examplebe it written for a Greek Statueor inspired by an empty skylives alone somewhere The day after without usAnd when we visit it again looking for meaningAll it speaks is Here HereIn this moment PSThe fans please forgive me for 27 Titles are hard to embrace in a huddle of a single poemYet I tryPPS Foraminifera are a class of amoebacharacterized by streaming granular ectoplasm that among other things is used for catching food


  5. says:

    “A Hard Life With MemoryI’m a poor audience for my memoryShe wants me to attend her voice nonstopbut I fidget fusslisten and don’tstep out come back then leave againShe wants all my time and attentionShe’s got no problem when I sleepThe day’s a different matter which upsets herShe thrusts old letters snapshots at me eagerlystirs up events both important and un turns my eyes to overlooked viewspeoples them with my deadIn her stories I’m always youngerWhich is nice but why always the same storyEvery mirror holds different news for meShe gets angry when I shrug my shouldersAnd takes revenge by hauling out old errorsweighty but easily forgottenLooks into my eyes checks my reactionThen comforts me it could be worseShe wants me to live only for her and with herIdeally in a dark locked roombut my plans still feature today’s sunclouds in progress ongoing roadsAt times I get fed up with herI suggest a separation From now to eternityThen she smiles at me with pitysince she knows it would be the end of me too”


  6. says:

    This was my first reading of Szymborska's poetry recipient of the Nobel prize she writes not how I would have expected but still so full of life The 27 poems on offer were not fancy in any way but retained a vibrancy that was down to earth and easily likeable Ingeniously written that it almost seems like she's whispering them to you as a close friend or relative sitting next to you with tea and biscuits It still strike me how she manage to express so much with such width and mindfulness in so few words I guess this what makes a great poet an instant connection with the readerAlthough the title poem 'Here' was a marvel some others such as 'Teenager' and 'Microcosmos' were eually as good and on the whole while it's short the diversity and range of emotions she utilizes results in a fantastic collection of her work I think of other great poets who didn't exactly see eye to eye with the world reading Szymborska felt fresh something different from the poets I would normally read With a purity and crisp humor this was a delight to navigate through Look forward to of her work she seems like a worthy Nobel laureate


  7. says:

    EXAMPLE A gale stripped all the leaves from the trees last night except for one leaf left to sway solo on a naked branchWith this example Violence demonstrates that yes of course— it likes its little joke from time to timeNONREADING Bookstores don't provide a remote control for Proust you can't switch to a soccer match or a uiz show win a Cadillac We live longer but less precisely and in shorter sentences We travel faster farther often but bring back slides instead of memories Here I am with some guy There I guess that's my ex Here everyone's naked so this must be a beach Seven volumes—mercy Couldn't it be cut or summarized or better yet put into pictures There was that series called The Doll but my sister in law says that's some other P And by the way who was he anyway They say he wrote in bed for years on end Page after page at a snail's pace But we're still going in fifth gear and knock on wood never betterHARD LIFE WITH MEMORY I'm a poor audience for my memory She wants me to attend her voice nonstop but I fidget fuss listen and don't step out come back then leave again She wants all my time and attention She's got no problem when I sleep The day's a different matter which upsets her She thrusts old letters snapshots at me eagerly stirs up events both important and un turns my eyes to overlooked views peoples them with my dead In her stories I'm always younger Which is nice but why always the same story Every mirror holds different news for me She gets angry when I shrug my shoulders And takes revenge by hauling out old errors weighty but easily forgotten Looks into my eyes checks my reaction Then comforts me it could be worse She wants me to live only for her and with her Ideally in a dark locked room but my plans still feature today's sun clouds in progress ongoing roads


  8. says:

    The last week or so has been kind of terrible due to various reasons It has forced me to ask uestions that I didn't want to ask and consider things that I just didn't want to ever consider Somehow although nothing has technically changed it feels like this week was life changing I feel like I've grown I can feel the direction of my life shifting during this week my priorities are no longer the same and I'm not sure if they'll ever return to what they were or if I'm happy with where they are now That's incredibly jarring future me is probably rolling their eyes about this dramatic statement And when things go terribly I am so very grateful poets like Szymborska exist It genuinely felt like she was speaking to me in the most self centered way possible Her words were a huge comfort It was like visiting a grandparent and having them give you perspective that everything is going to be fine even when it all feels like it's collapsing into itself I'm pretty sure that I've cried times this week than in the past three months but this is fine because as Szymborska says You may choose where to be or not to be to overpass or pull over only not to overlook I don't know why these poems spoke so much to me Is it because there's something comforting about a Nobel winning poet so deeply paranoid about people writing better poetry than her? Or perhaps it's because these poems are so intimate? They're dark and light at the same time The body has its own installment plan they're descriptive and they're gentle Usually when I think about famous writers I imagine thick prose and big words but Szymborska writes clearly and elegantly without needing to thicken her wordsI have so much to do and this week is far from being over but I'm so glad I took an hour to read this I hope it'll stay with me that I'll be able to hold on to Szymborska's thoughts on dreams labyrinths faith family and poetry If you're looking for some poetry I really think you can't go wrong with this collection   What I'm Taking With Me It feels a little wrong to count this as my Polish book for my reading challenge because the poems here are so international but at the same time I don't have any other idea for a Polish book and well she is Polish I'm positive at least some of my panic is coming from the realization that my birthday is coming up and I'm already starting up with the anxiety  And I'm just so so tired who knew critical thinking was so exhausting


  9. says:

    And I know what else you’re thinkingWars wars warsBut even between them there happen to be breaksAttention—people are evilAt ease—people are goodAt attention we produce wastelandsAt ease by the sweat of our brows we build housesand uickly live in themFrom 'Here' the title poem of the collection HERE by Wisława Szymborska translated from the Polish by Clare Cavanagh and Stanislaw BaranczakMy second Szymborska poetry collection and it solidifies her place as one of my must read poets This volume much smaller than my read of MAP last year but eually impressiveHer poetry is simple observational that kind that elicits a wry smirk rather than a full laugh or a whimper She's clever She imagines her parents meeting other people and the children they would have had perhaps even playing together at recess She describes the centuries of wear in a Greek statue only the torso remainsOther highlights in the collectionIdentificationAbsenceGreek StatueDivorce


  10. says:

    TeenagerMe—a teenager? If she suddenly stood here now before me would I need to treat her as near and dear although she's strange to me and distant? Shed a tear kiss her brow for the simple reason that we share a birthdate? So many dissimilarities between us that only the bones are likely still the same the cranial vault the eye socketsSince her eyes seem a little larger her eyelashes are longer she's taller and the whole body is tightly sheathed in smooth unblemished skin Relatives and friends still link us it is true but in her world nearly all are living while in mine almost no one survives from that shared circle We differ so profoundly talk and think about completely different things She knows next to nothing— but with a doggedness deserving better causes I know much — but not for sureShe shows me poems written in a clear and careful scriptI haven't used for years I read the poems read them Well maybe that one if it were shorter and touched up in a couple of places The rest do not bode well The conversation stumbles On her pathetic watch time is still cheap and unsteady On mine it's far precious and precise Nothing in parting a fixed smile and no emotionOnly when she vanishes leaving her scarf in her haste A scarf of genuine wool in colored stripes crocheted for her by our mother I've still got it


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