The poems of Wislawa Szymborska

[hp 4ever!]

The majority Wistawa Szymborska's poems attain a similar foundation based on the aspects of logicallity and time. However, is there anything else that she utilizes that has been condoned in our classes? Feel free to discuss literary devices in her works or anything else that appeals to you in this thread.

[quasimodo1]

Utopia
Island where all becomes clear.

Solid ground beneath your feet.

The only roads are those that offer access.

Bushes bend beneath the weight of proofs.

The Tree of Valid Supposition grows here
with branches disentangled since time immemorial.

The Tree of Understanding, dazzlingly straight and simple,
sprouts by the spring called Now I Get It.

The thicker the woods, the vaster the vista:
the Valley of Obviously.

If any doubts arise, the wind dispels them instantly.

Echoes stir unsummoned
and eagerly explain all the secrets of the worlds. {excerpt from UTOPIA}
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------http://nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/literature/laureates/1996/szymborska-bio.html
Interesting, just been reading a bit of Wislawa and she really is a fascinating and captivating poet, despite translation or maybe because the translators so far have been very good. She uses alot more the objectivity and logic: perhaps her key skill is in writing the evocotive. There is something going on relative to a WWII experience that has made great impact on her point of view. My theory.

[quasimodo1]

CLOUDS



I’d have to be really quick
to describe clouds -
a split second’s enough
for them to start being something else.

Their trademark:
they don’t repeat a single
shape, shade, pose, arrangement.

Unburdened by memory of any kind,
they float easily over the facts.

What on earth could they bear witness to?
They scatter whenever something happens.

Compared to clouds,
life rests on solid ground,
practically permanent, almost eternal.

{excerpt from CLOUDS}

[quasimodo1]

Utopia
Island where all becomes clear.

Solid ground beneath your feet.

The only roads are those that offer access.

Bushes bend beneath the weight of proofs.

The Tree of Valid Supposition grows here
with branches disentangled since time immemorial.

The Tree of Understanding, dazzlingly straight and simple,
sprouts by the spring called Now I Get It.

The thicker the woods, the vaster the vista:
the Valley of Obviously. ... {excerpt}

[hp 4ever!]

I absolutely agree with you on your deduction that her experiences with WWII have lead her to express her emotions in a logical and realistic sense (since war is known to slap reality into one's line of perspective). However, I find it interesting that her works have little reference to autobiographical elements even she grew up under such tragic times. I believe that by referring to events and objects that are commonly known, she can bring forth both reality and logicallity in the thoughts that she is trying to convey. For instance, in Wistawa Szymborska (which is a wonderful book with over 200 of her poems, in which all of these poems have been translated into English), there is one poem that stands out quite clearly in my mind to support my previous claim. This poem can be found on page 234 of this book, and it is called "The Real World." In this poem, each of the stanzas are a contrast between dreams and then reality, which I find this order to be quite fitting since she mentions that reality can capture one's mind after one were to wake up from one's dream: "The one on whom the real world depends is still unknown, and the products of his insomnia are available to anyone who wakes up" (Szymborska 26-30). This seems to be quite logical and true in our everyday lives for dreams are truly a means of escape from reality in which boundaries and restraints are non-existent.

In addition, I also love how she further demonstrates the contrast between dreams and reality by personifying reality to demonstrate its sturdiness and its omnipotent stance. She states that "[t]he world world lays the corpse in front of us. The real world doesn't blink an eye" (40-42). Therefore, reality seems to lack the emotions that define other beings, showing that it is ruthless (parallel to what war introduces). I believe that it's lack of emotions is important for it shows that reality is consistent in its existence whereas dreams aren't for "dreams are hazy and ambiguous, and can generally be explained in many different ways" (7-10). This lack of emotion also makes reality seem logical for it seems to base it's decisions on facts, not emotions since it does not seem to have any emotions.

I absolutely love her perspective on reality and dreams for they seems quite logical to me as illustrated in "The Real World."

----"Reality means reality: that's a tougher nut to crack" (11-12).

[hp 4ever!]

There is another aspect that I would like to bring up about her poems. I finished reading her poem "Certainty" on page 136 of Wislawa Syzmborska. Yet, I was extremely perplexed by her certainty that Shakespeare was the man whose face was painted because she had a completely different outlook on certainty when concerning Atlantis. This outlook on Atlantis is seen on page 17. In the poem "Atlantis," Szymborksa describes Atlantis as being something that possibly could have existed, or could have not existed. Nobody seems to quite know. Yet, I recall it being mentioned in Plato's "dialogues" of Timaeus and Critias. I was extremely perplexed as to why she claimed Shakepeare was real and Atlantis was not.
Perhaps it has to do with the fact that she is a bit distrustful of written accounts and thus since Shakespeare's work is concrete along with his portrait,etc., it is certain that he exists in the form that many believe him to have existed. However, Atlantis on the other hand does not have any other supporting evidence except for those written accounts.
If this is true, then I believe that she bases her concept of reality and certainty not on historical documents, yet she does so on concrete pieces of evidence such as a portrait that are existent today. This could perhaps coincide with her outlook on war document for she states that they always approximate (never certain).

What do you think?

[quasimodo1]

To hp 4ever!: Thanks for an incisive and clear examination of Wistawa (also called Wislowa) Szymborska's poetry and its influences. An excellent examination and essay. q1

[quasimodo1]

The Joy Of Writing



.....They forget that what's here isn't life.
Other laws, black on white, obtain.
The twinkling of an eye will take as long as I say,
and will, if I wish, divide into tiny eternities,
full of bullets stopped in mid-flight.
Not a thing will ever happen unless I say so.
Without my blessing, not a leaf will fall,
not a blade of grass will bend beneath that little hoof's full stop.

Is there then a world
where I rule absolutely on fate?
A time I bind with chains of signs?
An existence become endless at my bidding?

The joy of writing.
The power of preserving.
Revenge of a mortal hand. {excerpt}

[quasimodo1]

Tortures

Nothing has changed.
The body is susceptible to pain,
it must eat and breathe air and sleep,
it has thin skin and blood right underneath,
an adequate stock of teeth and nails,
its bones are breakable, its joints are stretchable.
In tortures all this is taken into account.

Nothing has changed.
The body shudders as it shuddered
before the founding of Rome and after,
in the twentieth century before and after Christ.
Tortures are as they were, it's just the earth that's grown smaller,
and whatever happens seems right on the other side of the wall.

{excerpt}

[hp 4ever!]

Thank you so much for your compliment! (although I find it highly undeserved since there are many in my class that could provide the same insight on her magnificent poems). However, I would like to discuss the poem “Clouds” for it one that both of us have read. Did you find anything interesting about the poem?

[quasimodo1]

To hp 4ever!: You will take note of my usual disclaimer that my analysis or attempt at same is not a pontifical statement. On the other hand, because of my ethnic backround and extreme interest in Szymborska's poetry, I do feel I have some understanding of her intent, primary and secondary. One obvious beauty of her poems is they can be taken on a simple level and enjoyed greatly without grasping for the greater mystery. In the poem "Clouds", the more subtle meanings are to this reader not that inacessible. Since copyright rules prevent me from posting the entire piece, let me assume you have a full text. In her first stanza, Wislawa or Wistawa mentions the brevity of any clouds shape and implies a poet must be with ready pen for apt description; this in my opinion just primes the reader for the irony of metaphor to come. After all it is not just clouds that "don't repeat a single shape, shade, pose, arrangement." Throughout this poem, my vision is of her relatives imprisoned in a concentration camp where clouds might have been the highlight of the daily scene. Unfortunately it is the bulk of humanity who must seem, then and to a lesser extent now, "Unburdened by a memory of any kind" and who "float easily over the facts." In this poem the metaphoric irony just gets deeper. When she says "Compared to clouds, life rests on solid ground, practically permanent, almost eternal." this points to an absolute opposite feeling relative to the humans, who in this apocalyptic situation are eternal only if one adds a religious factor. You can extrapolate all the other ironies like "a stone seems like a brother" or "They don't have to be seen while sailing on." When the ultimate negative metaphor is alligned with the poem, it gets a little spooky from my point of view. Szymborska amazes with regularity in her work and suprizes by her ability to speak in poems of many unthinkable, unspeakable things. q1

[quasimodo1]

A LARGE NUMBER

Four billion people on this earth,
but my imagination is the way it's always been:
bad with large numbers.
It is still moved by particularity.
It flits about the darkness like a flashlight beam,
disclosing only random faces,
while the rest go blindly by,
unthought of, unpitied.
Not even a Dante could have stopped that.
So what do you do when you're not,
even with all the muses on your side?

Non omnis moriar—a premature worry.
Yet am I fully alive, and is that enough?
It never has been, and even less so now.
I select by rejecting, for there's no other way,
but what I reject, is more numerous,
more dense, more intrusive than ever.
At the cost of untold losses—a poem, a sigh.
I reply with a whisper to a thunderous calling. ...

{excerpt}

Translated by Joanna Trzeciak

Wislawa Szymborska

[nyka]

Some People Like Poetry
Wislawa Szymborska

Some people--
that is not everybody
Not even the majority but the minority.
Not counting the schools where one must,
and the poets themselves,
there will be perhaps two in a thousand.

Like--
but we also like chicken noodle soup,
we like compliments and the color blue,
we like our old scarves,
we like to have our own way,
we like to pet dogs.

Poetry--
but what is poetry.
More than one flimsy answer
has been given to that question.
And I don't know, and don't know, and I
cling to it as to a life line.

translated by Walter Whipple

[quasimodo1]

".....Inspiration is not the exclusive privilege of poets or artists. There is, there has been, there 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." Wistawa Szymborska, Nobel Lecture, 1966

[quasimodo1]

Wistawa Szymborska, IN PRAISE OF DREAMS In my dreams I paint like Vermeer van Delft. I speak fluent Greek and not just with the living. I drive a car that does what I want it to. I am gifted and write mighty epics. I hear voices as clearly as any venerable saint. My brilliance as a pianist would stun you. I fly the way we ought to, i.e., on my own. Falling from the roof, I tumble gently to the grass. I've got no problem breathing under water. I can't complain: I've been able to locate Atlantis. {excerpt}

[quasimodo1]

CHILDREN OF OUR AGE



We are children of our age,

it's a political age.



All day long, all through the night,

all affairs--yours, ours, thiers--

are political affairs.



Whether you like it or not,

your genes have a political past,

your skin, a political cast,

your eyes, a political slant.



Whatever you say reverberates,

whatever you don't say speaks for itself.

So either way you're talking politics.



Even when you take to the woods,

you're taking political steps,

on political grounds.



Apolitical poems are also political,

and above us shines a moon,

no longer purely lunar.

To be or not to be, that is the question.

And though it troubles the digestion,

it's a question, as always, of politics. ...{excerpt, translated by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh, from the Polish}

[quasimodo1]

ARCHAEOLOGY Well, my poor man, seems we've made some progress in my field. Millennia have passed since you first called me archaeology. I no longer require your stone gods, your ruins with legible inscriptions. Show me your whatever and I'll tell you who you were. Something's bottom, something's top. A scrap of engine. A picture tube's neck. An inch of cable. Fingers turned to dust. Or even less than that, or even less. Using a method that you couldn't have known then, I can stir up memory in countless elements. Traces of blood are forever. Lies shine. Secret codes resound. Doubts and intentions come to light. If I want to (and you can't be too sure that I will). I'll peer down the throat of your silence, I'll read your views from the sockets of your eyes, I'll remind you in infinite detail of what you expected from life besides death. ... {excerpt}

[quasimodo1]

The End and the Beginning


After every war
someone has to clean up.
Things won't
straighten themselves up, after all.




Someone has to push the rubble
to the sides of the road,
so the corpse-laden wagons
can pass.




Someone has to get mired
in scum and ashes,
sofa springs,
splintered glass,
and bloody rags.




Someone must drag in a girder
to prop up a wall,
Someone must glaze a window,
rehang a door.


Photogenic it's not,
and takes years.
All the cameras have left
for another war.




Again we'll need bridges
and new railway stations.
Sleeves will go ragged
from rolling them up. ... {excerpt}

[translated by Joanna Trzeciak]

[quasimodo1]

Photograph from September 11



They jumped from the burning floors—
one, two, a few more,
higher, lower.


The photograph halted them in life,
and now keeps them
above the earth toward the earth.


Each is still complete,
with a particular face
and blood well hidden.


There’s enough time
for hair to come loose,
for keys and coins
to fall from pockets. ... {excerpt}

[quasimodo1]

Explaining Szymborska's work, translator Stanislaw Baranczak noted in New York Times Book Review: "The typical lyrical situation on which a Szymborska poem is founded is the confrontation between the directly stated or implied opinion on an issue and the question that raises doubt about its validity. The opinion not only reflects some widely shared belief or is representative of some widespread mind-set," Baranczak added, "but also, as a rule, has a certain doctrinaire ring to it: the philosophy behind it is usually speculative, anti-empirical, prone to hasty generalizations, collectivist, dogmatic and intolerant."

[ex ponto]

Her name is Wislawa, not Wistava. The thing is that polish has a voice marked with l, with a dash on upper part of it, so it looks like t. It's pronounced almost as w.

[quasimodo1]

To ex ponto: So that letter is not a t...it is an l. But it is pronounced like w. Thanks, I never did feel comfortable with that spelling.

[quasimodo1]

Poetry-
but what is poetry anyway?
More than one rickety answer
has tumbled since that question first was raised.
But I just keep on not knowing, and I cling to that
like a redemptive handrail. -- Wislawa Szymborska Poetry

Poems: New and Collected, 1957-1997

Wislawa Szymborska

Translated by Stanislaw Baránczak and Clare Cavanagh

Harcourt Brace, $27


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


by Frances Padorr Brent

"For good or bad-- as is always the case with translation-- the work of the Nobel laureate Wislawa Szymborska has undergone sea changes as it has been conveyed to English. Removed from its original culture where attenuating circumstances would be tacitly understood and separated from the variegated nuance of the Polish voice, the poetry causes the reader to become a collaborator in a process of being re-imagined." -- http://www.bostonreview.net/BR23.3/brent.html

[quasimodo1]

A Photograph of a Crowd

In a photograph of a crowd
my head seventh from the edge,
or maybe four in from the left
or twenty up from the bottom;


my head, I can't tell which,
no more the one and only, but already one of many,
and resembling the resembling,
neither clearly male nor female;


the marks it flashes at me
are not distinguishing marks;


maybe The Spirit of Time sees it,
but he's not looking at it closely;


my demographic head
which consumes steel and cables
so easily, so globally,


unashamed it's nothing special,
undespairing it's replaceable;


as if it weren't mine
in its own way on its own; ... {excerpt, translated by Joanna Trzeciak}

[quasimodo1]

THE JOY OF WRITING



Why does this written doe bound through these

written woods?

For a drink of written water from a spring

whose surface will zerox her soft mussle?

Why does she lift her head; does she hear

something?

Perched on four slim legs borrowed from the truth,

she pricks up her ears beneath my findertips.

Silence--this word also rustles across the page

and parts the boughs

that have sprouted from the word "woods."



Lying in wait, set to pounce on the blank page,

are letters up to no good,

clutches of clauses so subordinate

they'll never let her get away.



Each drop of ink contains a fair supply

of hunters, equipped with squinting eyes behind

their sights,

prepared to swarm the sloping pen at any moment

surround the doe, and slowly aim their guns.



They forget that what's here isn't life.

Other laws, black on white, obtain.

The twinkling of an eye will take as long as I say,

and will, if I wish, divide into tiny eternities,

full of bullets stopped in mid-flight.

Not a thing will ever happen unless I say so.

Without my blessing, not a leaf will fall,

not a blade of grass will bend beneath that

little hoof's full stop.



Is there then a world

where I rule absolutely on fate? ... {excerpt}



Wislawa Szymborska

[quasimodo1]

COLORATURA

Poised beneath a twig-wigged tree,
She spill her sparkling vocal powder:
Slippery sound silvers, silvery
Like spider's spittle, only louder.

Oh yes, she Cares (with a high C)
For Fellow Humans (you and me);
For us she'll twitter nothing bitter,
She'll knit her fitter, sweeter glitter,
Her vocal cords mince words for us
And crumble croutons, with crisp crunch
(lunch for her little lambs to munch)
Into a cream-filled demitasse.

But hark! It's dark! Oh doom too soon!
She's threatened by the black bassoon!
It's hoarse and coarse, it's grim and gruff,
It calls her dainty voice's bluff--
Basso Profundo, end this terror,
Do-re-mi mene tekel et cetera!

You want to silence her, abduct her
To our chilly life behind the scenes?
To our Siberian steppes of stopped-up sinuses,
Frogs in all throats, eternal hems and haws,
Where we, poor souls, gape soundlessly
Like fish? And this is what you wish?

Oh nay! Oh nay! Though doom be nigh,
She'll keep her chin and pitch up high! .....


{excerpt}

[quasimodo1]

From Poems: New and Collected

INTERVIEW WITH A CHILD

The Master hasn't been among us long.
That's why he lies in wait in every corner.
Covers his eyes and peeks through the cracks.
Aces the wall, then suddenly turns around.

The Master rejects outright the ridiculous thought
That a table out of sight goes on being a table nonstop,
That a chair behind our backs stays stuck in chairlike bounds
And doesn't even try to fly the coop.

True, it's hard to catch the world being different.
The apple tree slips back under the window before you can blink.
Incandescent sparrows always grow dim just in time.
Little pitchers have big ears and pick up every sound.
The nighttime closet acts as dull as its daytime twin.
The drawer does its best to assure the Master
It holds only what it's been given.
And no matter how fast you open the Brothers Grimm,
The princess always manages to take her seat again.

"They sense I'm a stranger here," the Master sighs,
"they won't let a new kid play their private games."

Since how can it be that whatever exists
Can only exist in one way,
An awful situation, for there's no escaping yourself,
No pause, no transformation? In a humble from-here-to-here?
A fly caught in a fly? A mouse trapped in a mouse?
A dog never let off its latent chain? ...


{excerpt}

[quasimodo1]

Wislawa Szymborska

Sunday, September 14, 2008
3:44 PM

From Poems New and Collected

LAUGHTER

The little girl I was--
I know her, of course.
I have a few snapshots
From her brief life.
I feel good-natured pity
For a couple of little poems.
I remember a few events.

But
To make the man who's with me
Laugh and hug me,
I did up just one silly story:
The puppy love
Of that ugly duckling.

I tell him
How she fell in love with a college boy;
That is, she wanted him
To look at her.

I tell him
How she once ran out to meet him
With a bandage on her unhurt head,
So that he'd ask, oh just ask her
What had happened.

Funny little thing.
How could she know
That even despair can work for you
If your're lucky enough
To outlive it.

...........

It'd be better if you
Went back where you came from.
I don't owe you anything,
I'm just an ordinary woman
Who only knows
When to betray
Another's secret.

Don't keep staring at us
With those eyes of yours,
Open too wide
Like the eyes of the dead. {excerpt}

[quasimodo1]

"How to (and how not to) Write Poety" http://poetryfoundation.org/features/feature.onpoetry.html?id=178592

[quasimodo1]

From her Nobel Prize speech: -- "It's not accidental that film biographies of great scientists and artists are produced in droves. The more ambitious directors seek to reproduce convincingly the creative process that led to important scientific discoveries or the emergence of a masterpiece. And one can depict certain kinds of scientific labor with some success. Laboratories, sundry instruments, elaborate machinery brought to life: such scenes may hold the audience's interest for a while. And those moments of uncertainty - will the experiment, conducted for the thousandth time with some tiny modification, finally yield the desired result? - can be quite dramatic. Films about painters can be spectacular, as they go about recreating every stage of a famous painting's evolution, from the first penciled line to the final brush-stroke. Music swells in films about composers: the first bars of the melody that rings in the musician's ears finally emerge as a mature work in symphonic form. Of course this is all quite naive and doesn't explain the strange mental state popularly known as inspiration, but at least there's something to look at and listen to.

But poets are the worst. Their work is hopelessly unphotogenic. Someone sits at a table or lies on a sofa while staring motionless at a wall or ceiling. Once in a while this person writes down seven lines only to cross out one of them fifteen minutes later, and then another hour passes, during which nothing happens ... Who could stand to watch this kind of thing?

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."

[quasimodo1]

http://papercuts.blogs.nytimes.com/2008/10/29/a-poem-for-the-pentagon/ --- October 29, 2008, 1:43 pm
A Poem for the Pentagon
By Barry Gewen --- Wislawa Szymborska.

[mzmarymack]

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?

[quasimodo1]

http://homepage.mac.com/mseffie/assignments/paintings&poems/szymborska.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)

[hp 4ever!]

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!!

[mzmarymack]

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?

[sillygoose]

"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.

[duckduckgoose]

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)

[sillygoose]

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.

[mzmarymack]

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.

[pufferfishpower]

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.

[pufferfishpower]

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.

[ApexiMRS]

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.

[quasimodo1]

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)

[sillygoose]

"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.

[quasimodo1]

"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/literature/laureates/1996/szymborska-lecture.html

[mhamley]

so I was interested to learn that one of Szymborska's poems "Nothing Twice" was turned into a Polish rock song back in 1995.

Here is the poem:Nothing Twice
by Wislawa Szymborska
Translated by Clare Cavanagh and Stanislaw Baranczak


Nothing can ever happen twice.
In consequence, the sorry fact is
that we arrive here improvised
and leave without the chance to practice.

Even if there is no one dumber,
if you're the planet's biggest dunce,
you can't repeat the class in summer:
this course is only offered once.

No day copies yesterday,
no two nights will teach what bliss is
in precisely the same way,
with precisely the same kisses.

One day, perhaps some idle tongue
mentions your name by accident:
I feel as if a rose were flung
into the room, all hue and scent.

The next day, though you're here with me,
I can't help looking at the clock:
A rose? A rose? What could that be?
Is it a flower or a rock?

Why do we treat the fleeting day
with so much needless fear and sorrow?
It's in its nature not to say
Today is always gone tomorrow

With smiles and kisses, we prefer
to seek accord beneath our star,
although we're different (we concur)
just as two drops of water are.

--------------
And thanks to some help :) , I think this is the video to the song.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DWlM9v10wjE

I'd love to hear from anyone who knows more about this.
I just think it is so cool that this award winning poet inspired a rock song.
The more I read Szymborska the more amazing I find her poetry to be.

[mzmarymack]

Wow that's cool!
I like this poem... although it's so hard for me to truly understand.
The speaker is not only saying that there are no second chances and that you should treasure each moment for its uniqueness, but she is criticizing us.

"Why do we treat the fleeting day
with so much needless fear and sorrow?
It's in its nature not to say
Today is always gone tomorrow

With smiles and kisses, we prefer
to seek accord beneath our star,
although we're different (we concur)
just as two drops of water are. "

We waste precious moments looking into the future, daydreaming, that we lose today, this very moment. Needless fear and sorrow: "what if I could have done better? I wish I had done this. Will the test be hard? Should I skip this meeting to avoid running into my ex-boyfriend." It's all this apprehension that's clouding and congesting our view of our lives and the world around us.

She's also saying that we're much too.. complacent. Yeah, we say "i'm special, I'm different," and we even have phases in our lives where we try to stand out and be different, seeking attention and all that jazz (haha jazz :) ) But it's in our nature to conform. To create little groups that one can turn to, seek protection in, when times are difficult. We're not really unique. We don't live under our own star. Our rules that govern our lives are the same as our neighbor's rules. We have different exteriors and different views of life, but our essense is the same. We have the same hopes and desires. To be happy--whatever that means. To find someone to love and hope like h-e-doublehockeystick that person loves us back.

That sense of unity can be found in the first stanza and the last two stanzas--she uses "we," creating an aura of "we're in this together." She also uses "you" YOU may be a dunce. and she uses "I" I feel as if a rose were flung. It's like a river and it's tributaries. The river branches off only to rejoin at the end. We all are born and we all die. The stuff in between however, is what makes us unique.

And one more thing I noticed--She says to not waste time and to "carpe diem." And I realize that's not a verb...
"The next day, though you're here with me,
I can't help looking at the clock:
A rose? A rose? What could that be?
Is it a flower or a rock? "

In this stanza, she's admitting that she too "can't help" but be apprehensive. She's wishing the rose were with her. She's not enjoying "you" because she's too caught up in the rose. And the next day, when "you" are not with her, she'll be missing "you."

BTW here's the song in Polish... probably
Nic dwa razy sie nie zdarza
I dlatego z tej przyczyny
Zrodziliœmy sie bez wprawy
I pomrzemy bez rutyny

Choæbyœmy uczniami byli
Najtepszymi w szkole œwiata
Nie bedziemy repetowaæ
¯adnej zimy ani lata

¯aden dzieñ sie nie powtórzy
Nie ma dwóch podobnych nocy
Dwóch tych samych poca³unków
Dwóch tych samych spojrzeñ w oczy nie, nie, nie, nie

Wczoraj kiedy twoje imie
Ktoœ wymówi³ przy mnie g³oœno
Tak mi by³o jakby ró¿a
Przez otwarte wpad³a okno

Uœmiechnieci, wpó³objeci
Próbujemy szukaæ zgody
Choæ ró¿nimy sie od siebie
Jak dwie krople czystej wody

¯aden dzieñ sie nie powtórzy
Nie ma dwóch podobnych nocy
Dwóch tych samych poca³unków
Dwóch tych samych spojrzeñ w oczy nie, nie, nie, nie

Nic dwa razy sie nie zdarza
I dlatego z tej przyczyny
Zrodziliœmy sie bez wprawy
I pomrzemy bez rutyny

¯aden dzieñ sie nie powtórzy
Nie ma dwóch podobnych nocy
Dwóch tych samych poca³unków
Dwóch tych samych spojrzeñ w oczy nie, nie, nie, nie

(English Translation. A thanks to Google.)
It is two times does not happen
And so for this reason
Zrodziliœmy without practice
And we die with no routine

Choæbyœmy students were
Najtepszymi school world
There will repetowaæ
¯ any winter or year

¯ any day will not be repeated
There are no two similar nights
Two of the same poca ³ unków
Two of those eyes in your eyes no, no, no, no

Yesterday, when your name
Ktoœ the pronunciation with me g oœno
So I was like on a different
For the WPAD open a window

Uœmiechnieci, subject to the PSF
Try szukaæ consent
Though different from one another nimy
As two drops of pure water

¯ any day will not be repeated
There are no two similar nights
Two of the same poca ³ unków
Two of those eyes in your eyes no, no, no, no

It is two times does not happen
And so for this reason
Zrodziliœmy without practice
And we die with no routine

¯ any day will not be repeated
There are no two similar nights
Two of the same poca ³ unków
Two of those eyes in your eyes no, no, no, no

[sillygoose]

Carpe Diem!
That's the first thing that came to my mind when I read this. I agree with you completely. She does say to treasure each moment of everyday and to not get caught up in all the "needless fears and sorrow".

I think that Szymborska is also saying that we should not dwell on the past and what happened yesterday. Whenever we make a big mistake, like bomb a test, we end up regretting putting down those answers or not studying hard enough for it. All these regrets are useless because what's done is done. Like Szymborska says "Nothing can ever happen twice". You can't go back in time and retake the test. There is no redo button. So why dwell on it day after day? Don't waste your time dwelling on what happened yesterday. Enjoy today!

"No day copies yesterday,
no two nights will teach what bliss is
in precisely the same way,
with precisely the same kisses."

Everyday is a brand new start. Enjoy it and try to make something meaningful out of it :)

[10yWakingUp]

I personally really like szymborska even thought i have a hard time understand what she s getting at some times.

for the most part, her poems appear insightful, deep, sad yet uplifting in a way.

example: joy of writting


btw. she seems to keep the reoccuring underlying idea that life is short and we should live it up

[10yWakingUp]

she s great, isnt she?

[sillygoose]

I really like her poems too; they appeal to a wide range of emotions, whether it's happy and upbeat or bitter and sarcastic. And I agree that they can be really difficult to figure out, but I think she's doing that to challenge us :)
I think she also conveys the message of the small things in life and how astonishing the world is because of these simple everyday things. It makes me appreciate everything around me, and it has gotten me to look at things from different perspectives. Who knew poetry could do so much? haha :)

[sumyono]

In Praise Of Feeling Bad About Yourself

The buzzard never says it is to blame.
The panther wouldn't know what scruples mean.
When the piranha strikes, it feels no shame.
If snakes had hands, they'd claim their hands were clean.

A jackal doesn't understand remorse.
Lions and lice don't waver in their course.
Why should they, when they know they're right?

Though hearts of killer whales may weigh a ton,
in every way they're light.

On this third planet of the sun
among the signs of bestiality
a clear conscience is Number One.

I am really glad that my first poem reading assignment was to read some of Symborska's poems. Usually, the only poems I ever hear are thou, art, this, thee, oh beloved sparrow, hark, and other words that make me confused.:crash:
However, now I am checking out poetry from the library. This poem is one of my favorites because it is pretty straightforward and when I read it I got that excited feeling I get when I analyze something and it comes out clearly to me. :idea:
This poem seems to tell me that animals are animals because they live to survive. They feel no remorse about lives they take or the things that they do because they either aren't capable of it or don't see any reason to. Symborska seems to be saying that humans have the capability to feel, to care, and to love. This capacity shouldn't be wasted because it is a beautiful thing. Our conscience, or emotions, our insecurities are all beautiful parts of us that show our humanity. For without it we are less than animals.:thumbs_up
So looking at the title, I suppose she is saying that feeling bad about yourself is a sign that you have morals, a conscience, reason. These are good things and she congratulates the reader for maintaining these qualities.All in all. I love this poem.:)

[mzmarymack]

Wow girl! That's a cool poem :)

I didn't get the last stanza at first, but I think I get it... it relates to the title, just like you said. If we, as humans, have a clear conscience, that means that something isn't right. We aren't anything close to perfect, and there's no reason for us not to feel guilty every once in a while (or a lot more often than that...)
Animals and plants and fungi and bacteria and viruses don't feel guilty because they are only doing what they were made to do (or if you don't believe in that stuff, they're following Nemo's advice to "just keep swimming!" Haha I love that fish! :) )

The rhyme scheme of this poem is... weird. And yet, it works with the tone, the message, the flow. The rhyming connects the ideas when the poem is read aloud.
Also, I think it's cool that she (or the translators, maybe) capitalized "Number One"
It's like she's saying "hey you! even though you feel crummy right now, you're number one in my book because you have the guts (or the conscience, in this case) to repent."
:)

[10yWakingUp]

sumyono, you did an awesome job of analyzing this poem!

as always, szymborska approves love and everything it stands for, along with the fact that we are humans.
she embraces our nature but criticizes it too

favorite line:
"Though hearts of killer whales may weigh a ton,
in every way they're light."

[sillygoose]

"The End and the Beginning"

This poem about war made me think about our war right now. It really made me think of the aftermath and how easy it is for some of the people who were not involved in it just go on with their lives. Szymborska sounds really sarcastic in this poem with the "Things won't pick themselves up, after all" (line 3-4) and the whole 'someone has to do this or that...'. There is also repetition of this "someone has to" which emphasizes a sense of pressure. Over time, we forget about wars and all of its origins and people. We study it in history, but it's usually like 'oh this country did this' or 'we said this & so we did this'. But after we study that for oh lets say two weeks, we just move on to something else. We'll eventually forget everything.

This poem also contains a lot of imagery. We can see a person shoving rubble, moving carts with corpses, trudging through sludge, lugging the post, etc. Szymborska is using words to provide images for us to understand the aftermath of a war. I feel like I'm there watching all these people cleaning up the pain and sufferings. It's like they're erasing the past to forget the terrible memories. When szymborska says "Someone has to lie there in the grass that covers up the causes and effects with a cornstalk in his teeth, gawking at clouds", I see patches of green grass that's covering up the past. Everything is new and rebuilt again like the bridges & railroad stations.


This ties in with the title "The End and the Beginning". Ususally we'd see the beginning first & then the end, but this is talking about the end of a war, and the beginning of a new life. We see all the past erased to make room for new memories. I see her criticizing some of us who just forgets something as huge as wars and just move on with our lives. That someone who is lying there on the grass gazing at the sky is looking forward or looking upward and higher. The past is literally beneath them. I think this whole poem is Szymborska's way of criticizing the people for forgetting the impacts of wars and everything that happened.

[sillygoose]

"Reality Demands"

This poem reminds of "the End and the Beginning". Truthfully, whenever something bad has happened, the people around us just tells us "Life goes on". And life does go on, but that doesn't mean we should forget the past. In this poem, there are a lot of allusions to countries or cities. I'm not really sure where all of these places are, but I do know Pearl Harbor and Hiroshima. They were both involved in WWII. I think these allusions are in here to remind us of the wars. After some time, these places have been redone to cover up all the aftermaths of war. But no matter what they do to rebuild everything, the history is still there. The one name of the place can bring back the war. Pearl Harbor is not just a place, it's a historical site where something tragic happened during WWII on Dec 7, 1941. The name of it can bring back the past. Szymborska says "There is so much Everything that Nothing is hidden quite nicely". THe impact of war has created such a huge effect that the smallest thing can bring back the memories. Nothing is hidden quite nicely because there is no way to hide something that has had so much impact. The one simple names of these cities can bring back so much. I guess my overall analysis of this poem is saying that reality demands that life goes on, but that doesn't mean we should forget the past.

[PontifexMaximus]

This poem has the same theme as that of "The End and the Beginning": People forget war, and the reasons for it. Unlike what sillygoose said, I think that the speaker is not saying that we will remember the battles or their reasons. One thing I find amusing is that you said you had no idea what the other battles/places/cites were, but then later on you make the point that we will never forget the WW2 battles. Are you sure? You don't know where the other battles were fought or why they were. I know that Cannae was a battle between Rome and Carthage and that the Romans were slaughtered by the tens of thousands in it, and I think Actium was another battle fought by Rome. Not many people know those battles (or the other ones) or why they were fought.

We don't know every single battle that was fought or the lessons that people learned from them. The speaker even says, "Perhaps all fields are battlefields" (third to last stanza). Where people may have once cowered behind a bush, we use it as a bathroom (lines 44-5). I think that Szymborska did a great job of proving her point by naming all these cities/battles that no one knows about, and then naming very well know battles/cities from WW1 and WW2. This make some readers think, "I will never forget these battles and the lessons learned from them!" But the question is, is true? Will, 100 years from now or maybe 3000 years from now, anyone remember any battle mentioned in this poem? And if no one knows of the battle, how can they have learned from others' mistakes? Sure we can remember the past for awhile, but reality demands that life goes on, and our memories go along with it.


The speaker says, "What moral can flow from this? Probabily none.
Only the blood flows, drying quickly" (lines 46-7). She is saying no morals flow from battle, only blood, which drys quick and is forgotten over time.
I think that Szymborska wrote this poem because WW1 was very distructive, but only about 20 years later, a second world war broke out that was deadlier. Szymborska is mad that everyone in power forgot the lessons learned from WW1 so quickly and started another, even more distructive war, in which Szymborska was probabily personally affected in some way.

Theme: Try to remember past as best you can, but one day most will forget, then someday no one will remember.

Tone: Lighthearted because everything is back to normal.

[duckduckgoose]

"The End and The Beginning"

Okay so i totally agree with Pontifex's comment, which also relates to "The End and The Beginning" . I thought Szymborska was questioning the purpose of war, while pointing out how pointless the concept of war is. Obviously, war has been a part of most civilizations at one point or another, so the question is "why?".. why has war become an answer when trying to solve a problem? do you guys think humans are naturally inclined to kill each other in a somewhat organized matter?
Something interesting about war that i got from this poem was that so many people are affected by war even though they may not have been apart of the feud. If someone lives in a country that is at war, they themselves may not agree with it at all, but they are left the responsibility of cleaning up the mess. This poem repeats the word "someone" over and over again, emphasizing this point. The story behind the person cleaning up the mess is unknown. They may not have even participated in any of the war activities, but they are the ones left to fix what others who started it (probably dead now) have left in destruction.
Symborska is questioning whether if it is actually worth it; are the lives, tears, and blood worth something that winds up as another statistic for those aware of it and as nothing at all for the ignorant?

[duckduckgoose]

"Reality Demands"

Okay, so i think that this poem can be seem as optimistic or pessimistic:

Optimistic viewpont: After such hardships like war, thinks can get back to normal in the end. Where there used to be blood, "the grass is green" (35). War can completely change a person's lifestyle. One day a person can be happy going to a movie or playing football, and the next day they may be risking their life to defend their country. With war comes destruction, stress, family worries, tears, and blood. People may think their life can never get back to normal. However, if the grass can get green again and people can live like they did before, this is positive. It gives sense of hope to people that may be in war right now. It makes you feel like 'one day, things can get back to normal, we won't think about the horrible deaths and depressing things anymore.' It can be better to forget the bad that came in order to move on and function properly.
However, there is the other interpretation of this poem
If in the end, things are exactly the same, what is the point of war in the first place? There will people living after the war in the same way as they live before. The efforts of people will be forgotten, and the war will lose more and more interest and more and more time passes by. You may feel close to a war when you have people you love die in it, but after you are gone, more people will be born and more generations will pass. Those who will not have had to suffer will not appreciate the war to such a degree. When a war is being considered, the long term positive effects need to measured to decide if it will be worth it in the long run.

[duckduckgoose]

"Vietnam"

This poem to me is showing how war can make people closer. When lives are at stake, the amount of materials one has accumulated over the years will mean nothing. The poem states "How old are you.. Whose side are you on?" (7). The number that represents your age may have no purpose anymore when you don't need it to drive or smoke or drink or see an r rated movie. The "side" you are on may make no difference. Your opinions may not matter if you are at the point of desperation with no one to help you. All that you have in the end are the people you care about like your children, or friends. You may not appreciate them before war, but when they have the possibility of getting killed or dying, you realize that they are more important than everything you held onto your life.

[ibapiggie]

You can tell a lot about Szymborska through her poetry. It shows her life experiences and the things that have influenced her to be the person she is.
One of the things you can tell about her is that she has been highly educated. She has a lot of allusions in her poetry that signify this.
There is a lot of allusion to classical Roman, Greek, and other mythology in a lot of her poems. Some of the titles are "a moment in Troy" (31), "Atlantis" (17), "commemoration" with its reference to Icharus (23), and a recurring line of Latin, "non omnis moriar", in at least two of her poems, "the rest" (34) and "a large number" (145). All of these allusions eliminate unnecessary words and give the reader the feeling of an inside joke with the author.
There are also a lot of other allusions, most of which I’m unsure of what they mean. But some must be well known because my spell-check recognized them as I put them here. Some examples are "the rest" and it's reference to Ophelia and Polonius (34), "greeting the supersonics" and it's reference to the tortoise and the hare (7), "water" and it's Biblical allusions to the tower of Babel (58), "family album" and it's allusions to Bosch (72), and the one that I find the strangest, "Brueghel’s two monkeys" (15). There is also a very strange title of "buffo" (21) which seems like a typo to me. Did she mean to say buffalo or buffoon instead?
She writes her poems in a very unique way, with unique structure. Sometimes her poems are structured into traditional stanzas, but she often will alter their structure. A few of her poems restate or continue the title in the first line of each stanza. She does this in "some people like poetry" (227) and "classifieds"(5). The effect is that the reader gets a deeper explanation of the title and the main idea is strongly emphasized. She will even abandon normal stanzas and write the poem in one large stanza, or many short stanzas depending on how you see it. Some examples of this are “possibilities” (213), “synopsis” (60), “vocabulary” (36), “astonishment” (128), “birthday” (129), and “certainty” (136). The effect of this is either a lengthy and possibly purposefully monotonous poem to emphasize a united idea or an abrupt feeling of divided short and choppy separate ideas to emphasize chaos and randomness.
She also writes a lot of poems about writing and how writers are different and strange people. I think this echoes her own personal realizations of how she is different from the rest of the world, even her own family. Some examples are “starvation camp near jaslo” (42), “I’m working on the world” (3), “the joy of writing” (67), “In praise of my sister” (159), “writing a resume” (205), “evaluation of an unwritten poem” (162), and “a tale begun” (210). I find it ironic that she is writing about writing, but then again, there is no better way to explain how to do it, than to do it

By the way, I love smilies!!!:yawnb::(:lol::flare:;):alien: :idea: :p :bawling: :sick: :thumbs_up :blush: :crash: :) :D :smash: :brow: :cool: :rolleyes: :banana: :confused: :redface: :eek: :wave: :as-sleep: :nod: :cold: :rage: :argue: :mad: :eek2: :santasmil :angel: :goof: :brickwall :ladysman:

[mzmarymack]

Duckduck! I really like your stance on "Vietnam." :)
When we discussed in class, we said something like "children are so much more important than the political on-goings (is that a word??)"
I like how this person asks about her children last. Like they aren't as consequential as her age or something. (BTW that was sarcasm. I hate how the speaker asked about her children, who were probably huddling in the ditch in fear, last.)
The speaker also says "This is war. You've got to choose," when he/she asks the woman about what side of the war she's on. We've always been told to take a stance, have a position, and be willing to fight for it. "If you stand for nothing, you'll fall for anything" is a common saying.
However, Szymborska's saying that it's okay not to have a side. There are more important things than declaring your views. The most important thing is making sure you stay human when you're part of a war. It's easy to start a crusade saying God is on your side and that you are justified to do anything. However, that is a bunch of bluestand (BS hahaha). It's easy to say "everything's fair in love and war." It's not. At all. Ever. heh
This woman (from the poem), by forgoing the political pomp and making her kids' welfare her number one priority, has kept her humanity while countless people take pleasure in the news report declaring the death of hundred thousands. [this isn't supposed to be offensive. please tell me if I didn't make that clear earlier....]



You can tell a lot about Szymborska through her poetry. It shows her life experiences and the things that have influenced her to be the person she is.
....There is also a very strange title of "buffo" (21) which seems like a typo to me. Did she mean to say buffalo or buffoon instead?
She writes her poems in a very unique way, with unique structure. Sometimes her poems are structured into traditional stanzas, but she often will alter their structure.

That's so true, ibapiggie! :) I think she meant buffo, and we have to remember that "buffo" isn't necessarily her word choice but her translator's. In my mind, buffoon has a more derogatory, demeaning connotation, whereas "buffo" is like "class clown." So I think there's a method behind the madness.

[10yWakingUp]

oky, this is one of my favorites. szymborska is amazing as always.
this is a translation i found online of her poem "hatred", so it is not the same as in the book. but still


Look, how spry she still is,
how well she holds up:
hatred, in our century.
How lithely she takes high hurdles.
How easy for her to pounce, to seize.



She is not like the other feelings.
At once older and younger than they.
She alone gives birth to causes
which rouse her to life.
If she sleeps, it's never for eternity.
Insomnia doesn't take away but gives her strength.



Religion or no religion
-- as long as she's in the running
Motherland or no-man's land
-- as long as she's in the race.
Even justice suffices at first.
After that she speeds off on her own
Hatred. Hatred.
The grimace of love's ecstasy
twists her face.



Oh, those other feelings,

so sickly and sluggish.
Since when could brotherhood
count on milling crowds?
Was compassion ever first across the finish line?
How many followers does doubt command?
Only hatred commands, for hatred knows her stuff.


Smart, able, hard working.
Need we say how many songs she has written.
How many pages of history she has numbered.
How many human carpets she has unrolled,
over how many plazas and stadiums.



Let's be honest:
Hatred can create beauty.
Marvelous are her fire-glows, in deep night.
Clouds of smoke most beautiful, in rosy dawn.
It's hard to deny ruins their pathos
and not to see bawdy humor
in the stout column lording it over them.



She is a master of contrast

between clatter and silence,

red blood and white snow.
Above all the image of a clean-shaven torturer
standing over his defiled victim
never bores her.


She is always ready for new tasks.
If she has to wait, she waits.
They say hatred is blind. Blind?
With eyes sharp as a sniper's,
she looks bravely into the future
-- she alone.

its obviously different from the book, poems new and collected. page 230.
but i wanted to post an example for those who dont have the book

so szymborska doesnt cover why we hate. just that we do hate. and for rather stupid reasons. she mentions how religion and fatherland can be a cause of conflict that leads to hatred. she kinda says that there is no hope for our future if we keep hating each other. 'hatred' is given a monster/predator like quality-- with the pounce/tracking us down. the comment on how brotherhood cant draw as much crowds as hate, is rather depressing. if we only gather in vast numbers for negative, violent things---what does that say about our nature? hatred also finds its way into history books. for instance, ever notice how in american history books, the british look like the bad guys? her comparision of hatred being "contrast---between explosions and dead quiet, red blood and white snow." gives it a real creepy feel. we know that world war two influenced alot of her work, but she makes a point. and her use of "dead quiet" instead of "silent" adds to that feeling. then the symbolism of snow, which is supposed to be either pure or a sign of death, which is obviously a symbol of death. (a great book about symbols and other devices used in books would be How to Read Litterature Like a Professor, really, its great)

i would continue with this but im going to go to sleep. i would love some input on this poem. ^^

[10yWakingUp]

okay so since im the only one on this page anymore, im going to comment on how in this translation, hatred is a girl vs. the books translation where there is not sex of hatred. and "let's" beings the reader into the poem. just a quick comment. ill make more later, but id love some input

[mzmarymack]

Hey girl! (and before you ask, I know that you are indeed female. I'm not making assumptions :) )

The sex thing is the first thing I noticed! In addition to "motherland" in this version rather than "fatherland," this translation uses
"She" rather than "it"
It made me a bit put off. Why is it that people refer to boats as she? (As in total ownership) And why do natural disasters often have female names?? hmpf

But saying "she" here reminds me of the Congreve's saying "Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned." I think this quotation describes hatred perfectly, although that may be because it's talking about hatred. haha

The way I see it is that using "it" would be like categorizing death as a machine, which is what the opening line of the poem states.
The difference b/w it and she is that "it" gives me a more eternal, can't-do-anything-to-wear-it-down feel whereas "she" makes it seem like hatred is a too-hot-to-handle, let-it-cool-down, it'll-get-easier-to-handle-later emotion. (and sorry for all the annoying hyphens:) ) her hatred isn't disappearing, but it will one day, given that we, as humans, don't provoke her. however its hatred will be perpetual. it will fuel generation after generation, never slowing down.


Also, another thing I noticed about this translation above...
"Smart, able, hard working."

That sounds like something I might say if asked to describe myself in three words.
sure, i wouldn't use those words exactly, but wow! These are characteristics that we value. Remember in Heart of Darkness how sickness was like having AIDS?? (okay AIDS is a sickness anyways...) What I mean is that in HoD Kurtz was only valued when he was in good health, when he was able-bodied. When he started to waste away, I believe that people were plotting to kill him or at least demote him(?). Anyways, Szmborska, by personifying Hatred, shows us two things.
1) we all harbor hatred--and yes this is obvious. It's still important enough to repeat.
2) hatred resembles us. the things we might be boastful of--"Oh look at me. I create beautiful works of art" is
"Let's be honest:
Hatred can create beauty.
Marvelous are her fire-glows, in deep night.
Clouds of smoke most beautiful, in rosy dawn."
and "Oh I'm so sly and clever" Why is that a good thing in the first place? Wouldn't the world be a better place if no one was sneaky?

To summarize, we have hatred within us, and it (or she--no just kidding, hatred's not a she ;) ) takes after us. It's to effective because we are effective (or efficient) So while we can say that we're so smart, so special, for every one of our talents, we have a flaw.

What do you think?

[10yWakingUp]

"It made me a bit put off. Why is it that people refer to boats as she? (As in total ownership) And why do natural disasters often have female names?? "

agreed. i could rant all day about all the sexism behind it.

and since you mentioned that saying, do you think the poem has anything to do with Congreve's quote?

but i agree and appreciate your input ^^
and comparing to previous books read in our class.

the line "Above all the image of a clean-shaven torturer
standing over his defiled victim"
makes it seem like szymborska is point out how men are the ones physically going out and following through with emotions forced on us by the "she"-hatred.
idk, it kinda makes sense if you look at it from a sexist point of view

women are emotional
men are physical

and her word choice is perfect. "defiled" "victim" makes you feel a lil angry towards the "torturer" right? anger=hatred but not as advanced

people do what they believe is right in their eyes. after reading this, most likely, people would say 'im not a mean face like all other people' but there are no exceptions.

i always feel like szymborska is trying to pull people into reality.

im going to cut this short, cause i have things to do, but i look forward to any other comments
thanks ^^

[mzmarymack]

and since you mentioned that saying, do you think the poem has anything to do with Congreve's quote?

I don't know... hmm. I'm always scared to say anything like "this is what szymborska is saying" (except where grades are concerned) because only she knows. plus there's the whole translator thing. if both poems used "she" then I might think so, but I'm too scared to say that WS was thinking about the quote when composing the poem. heh



the line "Above all the image of a clean-shaven torturer
standing over his defiled victim"
makes it seem like szymborska is point out how men are the ones physically going out and following through with emotions forced on us by the "she"-hatred.
idk, it kinda makes sense if you look at it from a sexist point of view

women are emotional
men are physical


wow i didn't notice the "his"! can I just say that torturer is one of the weirdest words in English?? Anyways, I love your analysis of this, 10yWakingUp.
Clean shaven.. I wonder. It reminds me of how we always say that appearances in literature reflect what the person is like--like Scarlet Letter and that horrendous novella with Tickles Fanny (forgot the name). Here, this isn't true. Even though the torturer is clean shaven, his appearance doesn't indicate his personality/goodness. So it's like Szymborska's trying to teach us another lesson (actually it's prolly the translator. It's funny because how did the translator decide that the torturer is male?? If the other torturer didn't even associate a sex at all... w/e). Don't judge a book by it's cover.



people do what they believe is right in their eyes. after reading this, most likely, people would say 'im not a mean face like all other people' but there are no exceptions.

i always feel like szymborska is trying to pull people into reality.

Dude I AGREE!!! :)

"You can take a horse to water but you can't make him drink" is what my grandfather often told me. Apply this to people who read poems. You can educate people, you can supply them with mind-blowing, horizon-widening literature, but you can't make them take the message/adage to heart.
You can't literally open people's eyes if they don't want to see. Which, in my humble opinion, is incredibly annoying.

I really like Szymborska. And I really don't understand what she's saying about 85% of the time. Just thought I'd put that out there. :)

[10yWakingUp]

the Mr. Tickles and Fanny novel is Venus in Boston. possibly worst book ever written.

another idea about the "clean shaven" guy, which i agree with your analysis of it completely ^^, usually the "clean" people are the Euros or Americans in literature. It reminded me of God of Small Things and Poisonwood Bible, how they went to Africa and realized there is no such thing as a civilized inidividual.

i think your grandfather is awesome! that horse quote is perfect for poetry, and possibly life as a whole. and i completely agree, again

i absolutely love szymborska and enjoy reading her poems ^^


what do you think about her poem
"Some People" (i had to recite it in class so I've been doing some thinking)

'Some people flee some other people
in some country under a sun
and some clouds

they've abandoned something close to all they've got
sown fields, some chickens, dogs
mirrors in which fire now preens

their shoulders bare pitchers and bundles
the emptier they get, the heavier they grow

what happens quietly: someone s dropping from exhaustion
what happens loudly: someones bread is ripped away
someone tries to shake a limp child back to life

always another wrong road ahead of them
always another wrong bridge
across some oddly reddish river
around them, some gunshots, now nearer now further away
above them, a plane seems to circle

some invisibility would come in handy
some grayish stoniness
or better yet, some nonexistance
for a shorter or longer while

something else will happen, only where and what
someone will come at them, only when and who
in how many shapes, with what intentions
if he has a choice
maybe he wont be the enemy
and let them live some sort of life'

i did this on memory, so there might be a few minor mistakes
but i believe that Szymborska was discussing people fleeing from Nazis. Since Polish was taken over at the beginning of the war, and she is polish, it makes sense to me.
i think she uses the word "some" in a sarcastic but deeper meaning, or the exact opposite meaning. because, "some" generalizes everything. and Szymborska doesnt generalize anything. it wasnt just "some people" who died from bombings, concentration camps, etc. it was ALOT of people. innocent people were murdered ruthlessly. it wasnt just "some country" it was almost all of Europe. everyone was trying to save themselves and their family.
the reddish river led me to believe she was discussing how there was possibly so much hatered and blood shed that it was dying the water red.
"someone tries to shake a limp child back to life" and "what happens quietly: someone s dropping from exhaustion" are possibly the saddest lines in any poem i've ever read.

but there was hope.
at the end she says:
"someone will come at them, only when and who,
in how many shapes, with what intentions,
if he has a choice
maybe he wont be the enemy
and let them live some sort of life"

by that, i think szymborska is saying that not all the bad guys are bad. maybe one of them will have sympathy and let them try to live a sort of normal life after all theyve been through. its hope ^^

and i love her for that

[mzmarymack]

i think she uses the word "some" in a sarcastic but deeper meaning, or the exact opposite meaning. because, "some" generalizes everything. and Szymborska doesnt generalize anything. it wasnt just "some people" who died from bombings, concentration camps, etc. it was ALOT of people. innocent people were murdered ruthlessly. it wasnt just "some country" it was almost all of Europe. everyone was trying to save themselves and their family.
the reddish river led me to believe she was discussing how there was possibly so much hatered and blood shed that it was dying the water red.
"someone tries to shake a limp child back to life" and "what happens quietly: someone s dropping from exhaustion" are possibly the saddest lines in any poem i've ever read.

but there was hope.
at the end she says:
"someone will come at them, only when and who,
in how many shapes, with what intentions,
if he has a choice
maybe he wont be the enemy
and let them live some sort of life"

I agree with you about "some":
The fact that it is "another wrong bridge", "some country under a sun", and "for a shorter or longer while" point out all the ambiguity. This poem doesn't use the definitive word "the." So Szymborska and the translators aren't pointing fingers and labeling oppressors. They are leaving it up to the readers to decide who the bad guys are and who the good guys are.

I think the last few lines say that we can't separate the bad from the good. We can't even have bad people and good people. (I urge you to read the poem "A Contribution to Statistics"--I'll add it to the bottom of this post. It's really good... I did my poster on it :) ) because "worthy of compassion / --ninety-nine [out of a hundred]" (from "A Contribution to Statistics"). Szymborska says that no one is purely one thing. That's why she incorporates the extremes in her poems, and we see this in this poem"
"What happens quietly:
what happens loudly:"
the parallel structure here supports the point I just made.
Also, "what happens quietly: someone s dropping from exhaustion
what happens loudly: someones bread is ripped away"

Ripping bread away... usually a quiet motion, but if you put it in perspective, in pindrop silence or whatever, then you can imagine it. also, if you're a beggar and someone's given you a scrap of food, imagine what you might go through as someone else steals it away from you, taunts you with the bread. So she's putting things in perspective--things that most of use skim over because we can't truly empathize with a beggar as we've never been there.

About the last lines... The same person can be good or bad is what I wanted to say. When people are forced by circumstances (once again, read Contrib to Stats) then they may act evilly. But when they are "given the chance", they may live up to their potential:

"if he has a choice
maybe he wont be the enemy
and let them live some sort of life"

The main thing is "he" often has no choice. The "bad guys"... you mentioned Nazis.. perhaps they aren't motivated by racism. Perhaps the vast majority are motivated by fear instilled by a higher authority.



A Contribution to Statistics

Out of a hundred people

those who always know better
-fifty-two

doubting every step
-nearly all the rest,

glad to lend a hand
if it doesn't take too long
-as high as forty-nine,

always good
because they can't be otherwise
-four, well maybe five,

able to admire without envy
-eighteen,

suffering illusions
induced by fleeting youth
-sixty, give or take a few,

not to be taken lightly
-forty and four,

living in constant fear
of someone or something
-seventy-seven,

capable of happiness
-twenty-something tops,

harmless singly, savage in crowds
-half at least,

cruel
when forced by circumstances
-better not to know
even ballpark figures,

wise after the fact
-just a couple more
than wise before it,

taking only things from life
-thirty
(I wish I were wrong),

hunched in pain,
no flashlight in the dark
-eighty-three
sooner or later,

righteous
-thirty-five, which is a lot,

righteous
and understanding
-three,

worthy of compassion
-ninety-nine,

mortal
-a hundred out of a hundred.
thus far this figure still remains unchanged.

-- Wislawa Szymborska


PS Please check out the So Long a Letter thread at this link:
http://www.online-literature.com/forums/showthread.php?t=43253

[lalalalala]

thanks!! i appreciate it!!!

-gab

[mzmarymack]

Hey gab.
I don't think the point of this site is for us to analyze for you, but we can definitely help you start.

In class, we often look at literary devices and their significance. For example,

Of all your loves, mention only the marriage;
Of all your children, only those who were born.

What does this excerpt make you feel?
I feel like Szymborska's showing readers that we often don't understand things--we see something and take it at face value, but we don't stop to understand the significance.
You could have loved three different men, and they could have had tremendous impacts on your life, but if I ask you about your husband, I'm only skimming the surface of who you are. I would never know about the other 2/3 of you.

What do you think is the speaker's tone in the poem? Playful? Sarcastic? Neutral? And how does the tone help convey the theme?

[lalalalala]

thanks!!! that really helped. i was thinking of the symbolism of the resume. what do you have in mind?

[poet_discussion]

FAMILY ALBUM
No one in this family has ever died of love.
No food for myth and nothing magisterial.
Consumptive Romeos? Juliets diphtherial?
A doddering second childhood was enough.
No death-defying vigils, love-struck poses
over unrequited letters strewn with tears!
Here, in conclusion, as scheduled, appears
a portly, prince-nez'd neighbor bearing roses.
No suffocation-in-the-closet gaffes
because the cuckold returned home too early!
Those frills or furbelows, however flounced and whirly,
barred no one from the family photographs.
No Bosch-like hell within their souls, no wretches
found bleeding in the garden, shirts in stains!
(True, some did die with bullets in their brains,
for other reasons, though, and on field stretchers.)
Even this belle with rapturous coiffure
who may have danced till dawn--but nothing smarter--
hemorrhaged to a better world, bien sûr,
but not to taunt or hurt you, slick-haired partner.
For others, Death was mad and monumental--
not for these citizens of a sepia past.
Their griefs turned into smiles, their days flew fast,
their vanishing was due to influenza.
__________________________________________________ ___________________________________

literary "sight" elements:
Symbolism: When Szymborska used the phrase "No death-defying vigils, love struck poses over unrequited letters strewn with tears!" I was able to visualize the actual course of action occurring before me. You could see the passionate emotion within this sentence. And it really brought out the imagery. Also when Szymborska mentioned the "Bosch-like hell within their souls" although the imagery wasn't a physical one the mental image and the suffering or rather the hell within their souls, perhaps meaning more so an evil essence or spirit, was what I would call a great play on words. It honestly helped further strengthen the imagery of this poem. Largely this entire poem is set on imagery. I would even go far enough to say that imagery is its strong hold and foundation. The family album itself tells tales of the past, yet it does not show the truth behind it all, each picture hides that which is the ultimate truth. So what is seen is merely a façade.
Personification: At the mention of a “sepia past” I felt as though the past had come alive and was being further emphasized by the personification of “griefs turned into smiles, […] days flew fast, […] vanishing was due to influenza”. Yes I do agree that this is also great symbolism but I thought as though the past had its own character and that that was something much more than just its imagery.

“sound” elements:
Rhythm: The poem is fluid, and flows from event to the other efficiently and smoothly. Even with the format and punctuation it is not just placed there line after line, meaning it is not just said and done. There is flow within it. The rhyme scheme helps to further emphasize this flow.
Rhyme: The ending words of lines 2, 3; 6, 7; 10, 11; 14, 15; 18, 19; 22, 23 each rhyme in pairs. I’m curious as to the significance of this particular rhyme scheme.
Repetition: The only word repetition visible is “No . . .”; however, as for visual repetition, Szymborska consistently brings up the mention of death and the past life of the family as well as some form of love, but the love included here is the love which did not kill these people but rather the love with which the album pictures hid.
Tone: I view the tone of this poem as sarcastic, yet it gives a message in a passionate voice. So I would say it is both sarcastic in the sense that it portrays that with which a family album hides behind it’s pictures and also passionate because there is depth in every detail in every picture and the exclamation marks truly help enhance that passionate tone.

[poet_discussion]

TP-FASTT Poetry Analysis

Poems New and Collected 1957-1997 by Wislawa Szymborska

THANK-YOU NOTE

Title: I predict that the title of the poem, Thank-You Note, is a representation of an actual thank-you note or rather what is written within a thank-you note. I also think that there is significance to the audience Szymborska addresses in her poem.

Paraphrase: I saw the entirety of the poem as though it focused on the gratitude with which should give to those who don’t have love or aren’t loved, those whom you don’t truly love just respect I guess. Although love would find them unworthy of thanking, one should thank them because if not for them everyone would be blinded by love. It seems as though basically Szymborska is saying thank you those whom I don’t love for being just who you are. At least that’s how I saw it, I honestly didn’t see it as being sarcastic, but then again from the poems we’ve read I could be wrong.

Figurative Language: Personification of love (specifically “‘I don’t owe them a thing,’ would be love’s answer to this open question). Love was given an essence of humanity. It was directly being thanked, almost as though a real human being was being thanked.

Attitude: The tone of this poem is very simplistic and rather bland. There isn’t much excitement if any within the poem. But its simplicity makes it flow very smoothly and each stanza has a particular beauty about it.

Shift: There are two shifts within this poem. The first one is at the beginning of the stanza on the next page when the three dimensions are mentioned. The shift here indicates I presume a sense of “if so, then maybe”. That gives a shift from appraisal of the not loved to them deserving credit if one were to live in three dimensions. The second shift is at the end when love’s answer is “I don’t owe them a thing”. Here the shift is direct, and for the first time, we see love “talking” instead of the narrator inferring that he/she knows what love knows not. Love has an opinion here. I believe this indicates a form of hypocrisy in a sense. The narrator owes so much to those whom he/she does not love, but love on the other hand, owes the unloved nothing. Through this shift, the narrator answers his/her open-ended question in one form from the perspective of love itself personified as a human.

Theme: One can owe so much to those whom he/she does not love without knowing it, yet when it comes to those whom we love, we know we owe them so much more.

Title: Now I see that the title has one meaning rather than two. The meaning is that we ought to be thankful for those whom we cherish and also those whom we do not cherish. Life has its ups and downs yet we must cherish those around us, even if we take little notice of them. What surprised me most is that Szymborska didn’t directly state what should be included within a thank-you note, but in an indirect way, she did say what we should be thankful for from those whom we do not love.

[poet_discussion]

THE END AND THE BEGINNING

After every war
someone has to tidy up.
Things won’t pick
themselves up, after all.

Someone has to shove
the rubble to the roadsides
so the carts loaded with corpses
can get by.

Someone has to trudge
through sludge and ashes,
through the sofa springs,
the shards of glass,
the bloody rags.

Someone has to lug the post
to prop the wall,
someone has to glaze the window,
set the door in its frame.

No sound bites, no photo opportunities,
and it takes years.
All the cameras have gone
to other wars.

The bridges need to be rebuilt,
the railroad stations, too.
Shirtsleeves will be rolled
to shreds.

Someone, broom is hand,
still remembers how it was.
Someone else listens, nodding
his unshattered head.

But others are bound to be bustling nearby
who’ll find all that
a little boring.

From time to time someone still must
dig up a rusted argument
from underneath a bush
and haul it off to the dump.

Those who knew
what this was all about
must make way for those
who know little.
And less than that.
And at last nothing less than nothing.

Someone has to lie there
in the grass that covers up
the causes and effects
with a cornstalk in his teeth,
gawking at clouds.
__________________________________________________ ________________________________________

literary "sight" elements:
Symbolism: The imagery of war-torn veterans and a reconstructing society emerges in my mind when I read this poem. The vivid details within each stanza remark on the difficulties one experiences through a difficult time in life, specifically that of a war-torn society. I specifically like how Szymborska begins her poem “[a]fter every war someone has to tidy up. Things won’t pick themselves up, after all”. With that I think she makes her intentions clear, she is indicating to her readers that society has to clean up its own affairs and through the flow of her poem, by the end she also indicates that society tends to find bliss in the ignorance of “the causes and effects” of its affairs. What's also really interesting is also the imagery of the "unshattered head". To me it's a portrayal of the humane vs the inhumane aspects of war.
Personification: At the mention of “[n]o sound bites, no photo opportunities, and it takes years. All the cameras have gone to other wars” Szymborska is personifying sound, photography, and cameras in correlation to war-time. She indicates that sound is deafening, photography disappears because of I imagine the lack of people to take it due to the great loss of people during wars, and she also indicates that cameras move although what she means is that nearly every war has a picture as a remembrance of the past.

“sound” elements:
Rhythm: Szymborska constructed this poem’s format to which each stanza states a duty that must be done in order to cleanse society of its war-torn land. Through this format, the rhythm of this poem flows brilliantly because of the separate breaks that allow the reader to think more closely about each obligation.
Rhyme: There is no rhyme within this poem.
Repetition: The only word repetition visible in five of the eleven stanzas of this poem begin with “Someone . . .”; however, as for visual repetition, Szymborska consistently brings up the mention the duties on must do in order to supposedly “tidy up” a war-torn country, although one can also see that Szymborska intends to show that that history of the battles isn’t easily forgotten even though society tends to do its best to either hide or ignore the past all through her use of sarcasm.
Tone: I view the tone of this poem as sarcastic yet subtle. So I would say it is sarcastic in the sense that it portrays the supposed effort of others when it comes to tidying up a war-torn society, but also subtle in the sense that it doesn’t frighten the reader nor demand something of the reader and neither does it obstruct the flow of the poem in general. Basically the poem is subtle because it is what I would call airy, given the sense that it fills the atmosphere with its quite tone.

[poet_discussion]

THE REAL WORLD [Definitely beautiful and very vivid imagery]

The real world doesn’t take flight
the way dreams do.
No muffled voice, no doorbell
can dispel it,
no shriek, no crash
can cut it short.

Images in dream [Dreams can either be simply vague or wildly imaginative; they’re creative. . .]
are hazy and ambiguous, [. . . whereas reality definitely is not what anyone could ever imagine it to be]
and can generally be explained
in many different ways.
Reality means reality: [It’s real; it’s life!!]
that’s tougher nut to crack. [It’s not impossible, but it is hard to live the life you always imagined to live]

Dreams have keys. [In a sense, you can control your dreams by your thoughts]
The real world opens on its own
and can’t be shut. [You can’t control what goes on in the real world b/c nature does take its course]
Report cards and stars
pour from it,
butterflies and flatiron warmers
shower down,
headless caps
and shards of clouds.
Together they form a rebus
that can’t be solved. [Coming of age like process]

Without us dreams couldn’t exist.
The one on whom the real world depends
is still unknown, [Without us the real world still goes on]
and the products of his insomnia [Loved the insomnia personification]
are available to anyone
who wakes up.

Dreams aren’t crazy— [They’re beautiful or otherwise they’d be called nightmares]
it’s the real world that’s insane, [I really loved this brilliant stanza, and I agree “dreams aren’t crazy. . .]
if only in the stubbornness [. . .it’s the real world that’s insane”. Anyone can learn that from experience]
with which it sticks
to the current of events.

It dreams our recently deceased
are still alive,
in perfect health, no less,
and restored to the full bloom of youth.
The real world lays the corpse
in front of us.
The real world doesn’t blink an eye.

Dreams are featherweights, [It’s because they’re easily forgotten]
and memory can shake them off with ease.
The real world doesn’t have to fear forgetfulness. [Reality is impossible to forget]
It’s a tough customer.
It sits on our shoulders,
weighs on our hearts,
tumbles to our feet.

There’s no escaping it,
it tags along each time we flee.
And there’s no stop
along our escape route
where reality isn’t expecting us. [It haunts us through the entirety of our lives]

[I’m curious as to what Szymborska intended to say through this poem. Is she saying that reality sucks or that we generally have no control over our lives? I think she intended to state the latter, but then again I could be wrong. After all, I really don’t know her personally.]

[poet_discussion]

WE’RE EXTREMELY FORTUNATE The God of Small Things here]

We’re extremely fortunate
not to know precisely
the kind of world we live in.



One would have
to live a long, long time,
unquestionably longer
than the world itself.

Get to know other worlds,
if only for comparison.

Rise above the flesh,
which only really knows
how to obstruct
and make trouble.

For the sake of research,
the big picture
and definitive conclusions,
one would have to transcend time,
in which everything scurries and whirls.

From that perspective,
one might as well bid farewell
to incidents and details.

[Back to [I]The God of Small Things again, from there we understood that the little things matter greatly, but then again it seems as though Szymborska is trying to say that too much knowledge would make them insignificant and in a way I agree with her. If someone is too knowledgeable about something they tend to avoid the details and jump right into the big picture.]

The counting of weekdays
would inevitably seem to be
a senseless activity;

dropping letters in the mailbox
a whim of foolish youth;

the sign “No Walking on the Grass”
a symptom of lunacy. [OCD personification or maybe imagery - either way it's indeed a very interesting thought]

[shilpa5]

It's quite interesting poet. i feel happy to this

DUI Attorney (http://www.duiattorneyorangecountyca.com)

[nickname0811]

I will start with the starvation camp near Jaslo. First of all, this poem reminded me of the "reality demands." Because it also uses a lot of allusions. And this poem specifically points out the place, Jaslo. It starts with the line saying, "write it down, write it", which is what the history does. History records what happened in the past. In this poem, I thought that Szymborska saw a history as the principal source of evil, since history keeps tracking time of the bad memory such as the starvation camp. Throughout the poem, I thought she was pretty cynical. Especially when she says "a thousand and one is still only a thousand."Also,there were hopeful things that were mentioned such as sunny and green. But the things that are hopeful are useless because they are too much or too little. Because she said "until you go blind." So you go blind, the things that are hopeful are useless anyway. Also, I noticed the time shift in this poem. (day time to night)

Okay, the next poem that I want to talk about is "The terrorist. He's watching." First time when I saw this title, It reminded me of the big brother from 1984. I am sure this guy is creepy as the big brother from the 1984. But I don't really get this poem. I made a chart who went in and who went out. And people who went in were wearing yellow, tall, or a fat guy with bald hair. And people who went out were wearing dark or short. First time, I thought that each person represents something. Like you know, usually yellow and tall people are hopeful than dark and short guys.... I am just saying I am not stereotypical. But in general.. So I thought that people who are justified in the society always sacrifice themselves, even though they don't need to. However, people who but aren't justified always avoid the chance of sacrificing themselves. But since the fat guy with bald hair went in. It shows there is always exception and that's how the society works.

The last poem that I want to talk about is "On death, without exaggeration."
First of all, Szymborska uses a lot of personification. It says "It can't take a joke" And death represents it in this line. I don't get some of stanzas. But, it shows the duality of the deaths. And there were some verbs that represent the living such as beats, grow, seeds. Also, there is a contradiction in one line, which saying " Oh, it has its triumphs." How can death have a triumph?

Okay, I will talk about more of things, if we didn't go over some of stuff.:)

[quasimodo1]

The Nobel Prize in Literature 1996 was awarded to Wislawa Szymborska "for poetry that with ironic precision allows the historical and biological context to come to light in fragments of human reality".

[Gregory Samsa]

I really like this two.

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 non-being can hold.


Possibilities

I prefer movies.
I prefer cats.
I prefer the oaks along the Warta.
I prefer Dickens to Dostoyevsky.
I prefer myself liking people
to myself loving mankind.
I prefer keeping a needle and thread on hand, just in case.
I prefer the color green.
I prefer not to maintain
that reason is to blame for everything.
I prefer exceptions.
I prefer to leave early.
I prefer talking to doctors about something else.
I prefer the old fine-lined illustrations.
I prefer the absurdity of writing poems
to the absurdity of not writing poems.
I prefer, where love's concerned, nonspecific anniversaries
that can be celebrated every day.
I prefer moralists
who promise me nothing.
I prefer cunning kindness to the over-trustful kind.
I prefer the earth in civvies.
I prefer conquered to conquering countries.
I prefer having some reservations.
I prefer the hell of chaos to the hell of order.
I prefer Grimms' fairy tales to the newspapers' front pages.
I prefer leaves without flowers to flowers without leaves.
I prefer dogs with uncropped tails.
I prefer light eyes, since mine are dark.
I prefer desk drawers.
I prefer many things that I haven't mentioned here
to many things I've also left unsaid.
I prefer zeroes on the loose
to those lined up behind a cipher.
I prefer the time of insects to the time of stars.
I prefer to knock on wood.
I prefer not to ask how much longer and when.
I prefer keeping in mind even the possibility
that existence has its own reason for being.

[Heteronym]

This thread is getting me very interested in Szymborska's poetry. Which English edition of her work do the connoisseurs recommend? I think there's not yet a collected edition of her works, just selections.

[Gregory Samsa]

What I like with Szymborska that she speaks with a tone both musical and mystical, going the vitally important extra step to view the world not only with wonder and compassion, but also with a unique creativity.

She also have a good sense of humor, like in the beginning of her Nobel acceptans speech. "They say the first sentence in any speech is always the hardest. Well, that one's behind me."

I read Szymborska in swedish and are very happy with the translation.

[Heteronym]

Here in Portugal she isn't easily available. I'm better off reading her in English.

[quasimodo1]

Dreams


Despite the geologists’ knowledge and craft,
mocking magnets, graphs, and maps—
in a split second the dream
piles before us mountains as stony
as real life.


And since mountains, then valleys, plains
with perfect infrastructures.
Without engineers, contractors, workers,
bulldozers, diggers, or supplies—
raging highways, instant bridges,
thickly populated pop-up cities.


Without directors, megaphones, and cameramen—
crowds knowing exactly when to frighten us
and when to vanish.


Without architects deft in their craft,
without carpenters, bricklayers, concrete pourers—
on the path a sudden house just like a toy,
and in it vast halls that echo with our steps
and walls constructed out of solid air.


Not just the scale, it’s also the precision—
a specific watch, an entire fly,
on the table a cloth with cross-stitched flowers,
a bitten apple with teeth marks.


And we—unlike circus acrobats,
conjurers, wizards, and hypnotists—
can fly unfledged,
we light dark tunnels with our eyes,
we wax eloquent in unknown tongues,
talking not with just anyone, but with the dead. {...excerpt}
[translated by Clare Cavanagh & Stanislaw Baranczak]

[boom^boom]

One thing that we noticed when we were mulling over Nothing twice was the rhyme scheme. As the title suggests, it never repeats the same rhyme. The title also portrays the central idea of the whole poem: that there are no re-dos in life. As Szymborska puts it in lines seven and eight, "You can't repeat the class in summer, the course is only offered once." (Szymborska l.7-8) The rose is a very prominent symbol in the poem, because it symbolizes the duality of a moment. The rose could either be a flower, an extension of peace and love, or a rock: hard, cold, and hurtful. She also uses consonance with the letter "s" throughout the poem, because s is a very short sound.

[Uroboros1989]

my native poet :D

[Uroboros1989]

I may tell you an anecdote relating to Szymborska. In Poland we have a kind of A lavel exam after high school (Matura exam). It's a moot point in our education system and Szymborska was asked to take this exam. She was analysing her own poem during the exam and she failed! :) That's the example why the Polish education system is rubbish! A pontential student is supposed to follow a kind of set of answers............... that's the question of students' creativity and so on...

[taztara158]

I don't think we really talked about the last 2 stanza's of "In Praise of Dreams" (pgs 138-139). I noticed a shift there that changed from dream aspects that changed how the narrator acts versus what she sees. All previous stanzas talked about things she is able to do in her dreams. She can speak Greek, breathe underwater, and ignore wars. However, the last 2 stanzas show how what she sees can also change. She says, "A few years ago/I saw two suns./And the night before last a penguin,/clear as day." (27-30) Instead of just changing herself here, she changes the world. This shift helps convey a universal idea. What one person wants can vary and is often hard to relate to. But a change in the world is easier for the reader to imagine, thus making the whole poem easier to relate to.

[Gregory Samsa]

Wisława Szymborska died today 89 years old. She was a great poet - probably the greatest Polish poet of modern times.


On Death, without Exaggeration

It can't take a joke,
find a star, make a bridge.
It knows nothing about weaving, mining, farming,
building ships, or baking cakes.

In our planning for tomorrow,
it has the final word,
which is always beside the point.

It can't even get the things done
that are part of its trade:
dig a grave,
make a coffin,
clean up after itself.

Preoccupied with killing,
it does the job awkwardly,
without system or skill.
As though each of us were its first kill.

Oh, it has its triumphs,
but look at its countless defeats,
missed blows,
and repeat attempts!

Sometimes it isn't strong enough
to swat a fly from the air.
Many are the caterpillars
that have outcrawled it.

All those bulbs, pods,
tentacles, fins, tracheae,
nuptial plumage, and winter fur
show that it has fallen behind
with its halfhearted work.

Ill will won't help
and even our lending a hand with wars and coups d'etat
is so far not enough.

Hearts beat inside eggs.
Babies' skeletons grow.
Seeds, hard at work, sprout their first tiny pair of leaves
and sometimes even tall trees fall away.

Whoever claims that it's omnipotent
is himself living proof
that it's not.

There's no life
that couldn't be immortal
if only for a moment.

Death
always arrives by that very moment too late.

In vain it tugs at the knob
of the invisible door.
As far as you've come
can't be undone.

[Heteronym]

Sad news; I loved reading Poems: New and Collected in 2010, and I was just waiting for Here to come out in paperback. I'd like to know what Adam Zagajewski thinks of this; after Szymborska, he was the most popular Polish poet alive.

[Mutatis-Mutandis]

Reading through some of these poems, I'm definitely not wowed. Is this the best contemporary poetry has to offer?

[Heteronym]

What bothers you about them?