http://papercuts.blogs.nytimes.com/2...-the-pentagon/ --- October 29, 2008, 1:43 pm
A Poem for the Pentagon
By Barry Gewen --- Wislawa Szymborska.
http://papercuts.blogs.nytimes.com/2...-the-pentagon/ --- October 29, 2008, 1:43 pm
A Poem for the Pentagon
By Barry Gewen --- Wislawa Szymborska.
Brueghel's Two Monkeys
This is what I see in my dreams about final exams:
two monkeys, chained to the floor, sit on the windowsill,
the sky behind them flutters,
the sea is taking its bath.
The exam is History of Mankind.
I stammer and hedge.
One monkey stares and listens with mocking disdain,
the other seems to be dreaming away--
but when it's clear I don't know what to say
he prompts me with a gentle
clinking of his chain.
I've reread this poem so many times, and I'm still quite clueless about what it means. I do know, however, that Szymoborska is saying something very important (when is she not, actually?).
I believe the chains represent slavery. And that Man has always imposed slavery upon everything.
The title of the poem refers to the Pieter Breughel's painting, Two Small Monkeys.
Link: http://breughel.8m.net/cgi-bin/i/aapjes.jpg
(beware of popups!)
I've only barely scratched the surface of the meaning of this poem. Any help?
http://homepage.mac.com/mseffie/assi...zymborska.html ---Two Monkeys by Brueghel
(trans. from the Polish by Magnus Kryski)
Wislawa Szymborska
I keep dreaming of my graduation exam:
....
One monkey, eyes fixed upon me, listens ironically,
the other seems to be dozing--
and when silence follows a question,
he prompts me
with a soft jingling of the chain.
Pieter Brueghel the Elder, Two Monkeys (1562) {excerpt}
Oil on canvas, approximately 8 inches x 9 inches. Dahlem Museum, Berlin. --- Szymborska loves irony married to
history or in this case perhaps anthropology so while it is never wise to pontificate on the meaning of any of her
poems (and this one is a little more ellusive than most), you can probably safely say she is reflecting on a moment
(her exam) and simultantaneously ironicly reflecting on any sentient being's sense of captivity, or even (and this
might be a stretch), the human condition. It would be great if member Stlukesguild might also comment. (poem still under CR)
I understand your need for a more in-depth analysis considering that Szymborska is one of the most prolific and complex writers that I’ve ever encountered. Hence, her poems serve as enriching mediums to deliver a profound message concerning criticism, inquiry, universal truths, or unresolved conundrums.
Without further ado, here’s my analysis of this highly mystifying poem:
The general situation is that an examiner (the speaker of the poem) is taking a final exam titled “History of Mankind.” The examiners seem to be the shackled monkeys for one is listening with “mocking disdain.”
The speaker is rendered speechless (I stammer and hedge ) by an exam that pertains to the existence of his or her race, which is quite ironic. The irony is expounded by the fact that the monkeys, representative of a different race, are the examiners. Examiners often of course are viewed as field-specific experts and the examinees are generally those with less sufficient knowledge. Hence, through this “knowledge hierarchy” pertaining to the examiner and examine, I believe that Szymborska is subtly illustrating the irony in regards to the reality that a member of mankind is ignorant of his or her own history in contrast to other presumably “erudite” spectators. However, I find it be a bit disconcerting that the monkeys are described in such a contrasting manner. One monkey seems to capture and illuminate the gentle dreamlike state like the fluttering sky. The other though seems to capture the harsh and mocking state. Perhaps, these two monkeys are not representative of a different species, but reality itself. This may be a major stretch yet they seem to be representative of the two juxtaposing sides of reality: soothing vs. harsh. Therefore, it would make since that the soothing monkey “prompts” the examine to learn about the shackled captivity of mankind to an unknown uniform foundation. The irony is further lamented considering that the answer of this final exam is literally staring the examine in the face, yet this indefinite answer remains to befuddle us all. The culminating point seems to be that according to Szymborska, humanity is rendered to be ignorant of our historical reality. Perhaps her skeptical perspective of mankind is clarified by her personal experiences of Communism and the arising terror generated by mankind.
Hope that helps!!
Wow guys, thanks!
Haha yea, I often have this desire to know exactly what the author's trying to say, which was heartbreaking for me not to know what exactly happens at the end of 1984 and The Handmaid's Tale.
I didn't truly see the irony 'til now.
Can you tell me some more about WS's background?
"Going Home"
He came home. Said nothing.
It was clear though that something had gone wrong.
He lay down fully dressed.
Pulled the blanket over his head.
Tucked up his knees.
He's nearly forty, but not at the moment.
He exists just as he did inside his mother's womb,
clad in seven walls of skin, in sheltered darkness.
Tomorrow he'll give a lecture
on homeostasis in megagalactic cosmonautics.
For now, though, he has curled up and gone to sleep.
pg. 123
I found this poem, and I wanted to know what some of you guys think of it.
Hm... i like this poem, too. I have come to appreicate sleep so much this year, and i think when i go to sleep it's like i'm getting away from the world. Seriously, i can relate to how he goes to sleep thinking of all the work he has to do, but all he cares about it going to sleep and relaxing finally; the title "Going Home" also explains this. Home is supposed to be one's santuary, but sometimes it's one of the most stressful enviroments and we can't relax because of all the distractions we have. So when we go to sleep, its the only place where we can truly get away from the world and get to the calm "home".
But aside from that, i think it's its interesting that she is relating going to sleep to the position we are in when we're in the womb (fetal position)
I totally agree. I think a home represents comfort and warmth, and provides protection. It seems like Szymborska is pointing out the comforts of a home. Home is like the mother that protects him and comforts him. It described the mother's womb "clad in seven walls of skin". That's like the walls of a house. (When our house was being built last year, I saw how many layers and there are to building the walls of a house.) With all this said, I think there is a definite symbol between a home and a mother; they both offer protection and comfort.
Dang. I really like this poem.
You have his astute professor, who seems like he's totally collected. His students probably think that he's cold. And that nothing affects him--it's hard to get under his skin (pun intended.) Then we see this really fragile side of him that his students don't see. I think Szymborska's showing a side of a man that we don't think about. the professor who gives lectures on homeostasis in megagalactic cosmonautics does have his human moments. He needs to deal with whatever "had gone wrong." Maybe an epic dispute with a faculty member or student?
[[btw I'm pretty sure that we have 7 layers of skin--there are like 5 layers just in the epidermis, then there's the dermis, then there's one more. haha]]
His mother's womb--he's totally dependent, vulnerable. and that's associated with "fetal position."
Did you notice the verb tenses? It goes from past to present to future to present perfect, I think? In the beginning of the poem, the narrator sounds more impersonal. The sentences are like boom. boom. boom. Not much emotion.
Then with the present tense, it shows his vulnerable side, and it's funny because while using the present tense, the narrator compares the adult to a child, to his distant past.
Then with the future tense, I get the sense of "it's just another day in the life of Prof. ___. Life goes on." Not super hopeful, but it's better than nothing.
"For now though, he has curled up and gone to sleep" Like y'all said... sleep=escape. sleep is also a way of rejuvenating. It's how he deals.
Yeah, I like this poem too.
It goes back to the safest place the professor has been. The womb is the most comfortable place for him because it is his place of origin and where everything was taken care of for him and he didn't have to worry about stressful events, but now its completely opposite. Now, he has to deal with everything himself in the real world and as a professor of such a complicated subject, he is bound to come across some harsh difficuties at some point.
I think Szymborksa is also commenting on age such that regardless of someone's age or occupation, they still need a way back to the basics of life. "He's nearly forty, but not at the moment." Everybody needs a place where they can feel safe and let the hustle and bustle of the world move on without them for a little bit as they try to relax and think calmly and quietly.
This is anther poem which I really enjoyed!
Atlantis
They were or they weren't.
On an island or not.
An ocean or not an ocean
swallowed them up or it didn't.
Was there anyone to love anyone?
Did anybody have someone to fight?
Everything happened or it didn't
there or someplace else.
Seven cities stood there.
So we think.
They were meant to stand forever.
We suppose.
They weren't up to much, no.
They were up to something, yes.
Hypothetical. Dubious.
Uncommemorated.
Never extracted from air,
fire,water, or earth.
Not contained within a stone
or drop of rain.
Not suitable for straight-faced use
as a story's moral.
A meteor fell.
Not a meteor.
A volcano exploded.
Not a volcano.
Someone summoned something.
Nothing was called.
On this more-or-less Atlantis.
True love often begins with a question.
People say that all great things begin with a question.
At least that's what my father always told me.
However this is not the case with love.
The love that I've felt all along my life.
I believe love doesn't have to be between a girl and a guy from different places. All love is the same. Love between family. Love between couples. Love between humans and objects.
Love comes to you. You just have to grab it. It comes in various forms but it comes. So do you just grab everything and call it love? Sure, if you want to. That's your love. But most people will ask is this love?
In this poem "True Love" by Wislawa, she puts this feeling into the poem. The tone of the poem made me feel as if I was asking a big question throughout the reading of the poem. The question of love. Wislawa asks, "True love, Is it normal, is it serious, is it practical?". I say, in means to what? that question is all arbitrary. One might have a dream, a vision, a responsibility over something that might be more important, practical and serious than the love they are engaged in. I don't believe it's anyone's right to say that it is not true love if the above is the case for someone. I think Wislawa would agree with me on this. "Let the people who never find true love keep saying that there's no such thing." Love cannot be judged good or bad. It cannot be judge true or not true.
Here's my definition of true love. True love is unspoken. True love is no judgment. True love comes when it is not everything you've got. True love is not practical. It contributes nothing to the world and nor do you need or want it to. True love is just love, the love that forms and doesn't disappear. Numbers alone cannot find the probability of the love that you have in your life but if it's true love we're talking about. You will find it. You will value it. You know the value's there, you and the lover. you don't have to share with the other person that you value it. you both know. why is it valuable, no one knows. "Placed on the same pedestal for no good reason, drawn randomly from millions, but convinced it had to happen this way --- in rewards for what? For nothing." Love is not fair. True love is there when you are a part of it. If someone attacks your love, you are there. Not because you feel that you need to. Automatically, you are there. In the same way love is there when something attacks you. "It's hard even to guess how far things might go if people start to follow their example. What could religion and poetry count on? What would be remembered?" Religion is seen to be there for you no matter what. Even after you die. If love's got your back all the time. What's religion going to do? This is what Wislawa is saying. Poetry is self expression; "Look at the happy couple. Couldn't they at least try to hide it, fake a little depression for their friends' sake?" Love doesn't hide. It expresses. If everyone were in love and expressed their love. what would happen to poetry that expresses one's love? this is what Wislawa is saying. "Is it necessary?" No, love isn't necessary. But you can't live without it once you find it. It interrupts your studies or your work. That's not good for your life in the grand scheme of things...without work you'll be out. On the streets. But if it's worth it to you. I believe that is true love. When you are ready to take on the responsibility of taking the true love. "Tact and common sense tell us to pass over it in silence, like a scandal in Life's highest circles." "Let the people who never find true love keep saying that there's no such thing. Their faith will make it easier for them to live and die." Final part of the poem. All I can think of...or all i can find a way to put it. is...let people believe what they want. It's their love.
In the end, Love is Love. It might have been crappy but it is still love.
You can deny it, but it's still love. No matter how crappy my love was or is. I will say I hate it and love it. That's me though.
Live the Apex. Out.
A FEW WORDS ON THE SOUL
{translated from the Polish by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh}
We have a soul at times.
No one’s got it non-stop,
for keeps.
Day after day,
year after year
may pass without it.
Sometimes
it will settle for awhile
only in childhood’s fears and raptures.
Sometimes only in astonishment
that we are old.
It rarely lends a hand
in uphill tasks,
like moving furniture,
or lifting luggage,
or going miles in shoes that pinch.
It usually steps out
whenever meat needs chopping
or forms have to be filled.
For every thousand conversations
it participates in one,
if even that,
since it prefers silence.
Just when our body goes from ache to pain,
it slips off-duty.
It’s picky:
it doesn’t like seeing us in crowds,
our hustling for a dubious advantage
and creaky machinations make it sick.
Joy and sorrow
aren’t two different feelings for it.
It attends us
only when the two are joined.
. . . . . . .
It won’t say where it comes from
or when it’s taking off again,
though it’s clearly expecting such questions.
We need it
but apparently
it needs us
for some reason too. {excerpt}
*
Born in Bnin, Poland, Wislawa Szymborska won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1996. Her latest book, Miracle Fair: Selected Poems of Wislawa Szymborska, was published by W. W. Norton & Co. in May, 2001. (2001)
Stanislaw Baranczak is the Alfred Jurzykowski Professor of Polish Literature, Emeritus, at Harvard University. He has translated, among others, Wislawa Szymborska (with Clare Cavanagh) and Jan Kockanowski (with Seamus Heaney) into English and has published over forty volumes of English poetry in Polish translation. (2001)
"Possibilities"
After reading this poem, I felt like I got to Szymborska. I'm hoping the "I" is referring to her. To me she seems really down to earth in this poem, telling us everything she prefers. I felt like I was a friend of hers just asking her questions like "Which is better?" & she would reply "I prefer movies". I just like the tone of this poem because it definitely gives us a sense of what kind of person Szymborska is.
The one thing that really popped out at me was the repetition of "I prefer". She does not bluntly say "I like", which is usually has a stronger definite tone to it. She instead uses "prefer" which to me sounds means lesser than like. If you prefer something, it just means you would rather have one thing than the other. It doesn't necessarily mean you have to like it. "Prefer" is more open & vague because it doesn't mean you like it but it doesn't mean you don't like it. In this poem, Szymborska isn't necessarily saying she likes all these things, but that she chooses these things over the other options.
The title "Possibilities" convey the idea of the vastness of our world. We are constantly overwhelmed by the wonders of the world. Once again, Szymborska's "I prefer" gives a vague answer to questions that are being asked of her. This poem is kind of like her answers to the questions about which would she rather choose. All her answers range from simple things like movies to kindness or existence. She gives a variety of answers, and I think she does this to emphasize all the possibilities the world has to offer us. We cannot deny life is boring or anything, because we have so many choices.
The whole formatting of this poem emphasizes the wide range of possibilities. The first two lines are simple and straightforward, but once in a while she would have a few lines where she goes further into details like "I prefer, where love's concerned, onspecific anniversaries that can be celebrated every day". The formatting of the poem gives us an imagery of the different possibilities. There are possibilities of small simple things like the short simple lines, or there are possibilities of large complex things like the long, detailed lines. The format plays with our eyes giving us variety that jumps around all over the pages.
Overall, I liked this poem. It was so down to earth and playful, while at the same time showing us something about the world. In her nobel lecture, she talked about how the world is so astonishing, and I think this poem conveys that message. She wants us to see the vastness of the world and all the different possibilities or choices there are.
"I've mentioned inspiration. Contemporary poets answer evasively when asked what it is, and if it actually exists. It's not that they've never known the blessing of this inner impulse. It's just not easy to explain something to someone else that you don't understand yourself.
When I'm asked about this on occasion, I hedge the question too. But my answer is this: inspiration is not the exclusive privilege of poets or artists generally. There is, has been, and will always be a certain group of people whom inspiration visits. It's made up of all those who've consciously chosen their calling and do their job with love and imagination. It may include doctors, teachers, gardeners - and I could list a hundred more professions. Their work becomes one continuous adventure as long as they manage to keep discovering new challenges in it. Difficulties and setbacks never quell their curiosity. A swarm of new questions emerges from every problem they solve. Whatever inspiration is, it's born from a continuous "I don't know."
There aren't many such people. Most of the earth's inhabitants work to get by. They work because they have to. They didn't pick this or that kind of job out of passion; the circumstances of their lives did the choosing for them. Loveless work, boring work, work valued only because others haven't got even that much, however loveless and boring - this is one of the harshest human miseries. And there's no sign that coming centuries will produce any changes for the better as far as this goes.
And so, though I may deny poets their monopoly on inspiration, I still place them in a select group of Fortune's darlings." {excerpt from her Nobel Lecture} ---
http://nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/l...a-lecture.html
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