In Memory of Wislawa Szymborska (1923 - 2012)
Note: poems' excerpts and 2 songs are at the end.
My favorite poetess, Wislawa Sz., died on 1.2.12 and, as a symbolic gesture to honor the deceased, I hope this post will help somebody discover her too. Szymborska's poetry has been very popular in Poland for a long time, but only after receiving Nobel Prize for Literature in 1996 she became one of the few famous abroad Polish poets. As expected, she wrote a lot about the horrors of WW2 and communism, which she initially supported, but later became disillusioned with, going from praising Lenin in "Lenin" to presenting Stalin as the abominable snowman in “Calling Out To Yeti’’, but the list of her topics only begins here. She beautifully wrote about man's place in the universe, love, evolution, contemporary issues (f.e. "Photograph from September 11"), nature and much more. Woody Allen said of the poet, “She is able to capture the pointlessness and sadness of life, but somehow still be affirmative.” (via The Huffington post). Boston.com gave another good description:
"Both deeply political and playful, a poet who used humor in unforeseen ways. Her verse, seemingly simple, was subtle, deep and often hauntingly beautiful. She used simple objects and detailed observation to reflect on larger truths, often using everyday images - an onion, a cat wandering in an empty apartment, an old fan in a museum - to reflect on grand topics such as love, death and passing time."
Wislawa's language is simple, yet touching and profound. Since ideas dominate her poetry, it translates well and I enjoyed the work of Stanislaw Baranczak & Clare Cavanagh in "Poems New and Collected", who didn't try to force the rhymes (others did with "clumsy and banal" result), instead using the simplest English, which only made the poems more affective.
I am also glad to see in her verse the example both that Nobel Prize doesn't stand for "for intellectuals only" and that pop culture doesn't have to mean "sub standard". Polish rock singer Kora turned her poem “Nothing Twice’’ into a pop song, which was a 1994 hit in Poland, and the song "Today" from Pawel Zadlo's debut album "iNTRO" contains its' fragments too, this time fortunately in English (YouTube below) ("Today" lyrics). Imo, amateur song "The Speech at the Lost and Found" by Bogdan Zadlo is nice too (below) and I hope to see more songs in the future.
PAWEŁ ŻĄDŁO: TODAY
Click to viewThe Speech at the Lost and Found by Bogdan Zadlo
I tried to choose quotes, which would give some idea of her style and subjects, but, of course, couldn't include everything. Her Nobel speech can be read here. More poems - here.
True love. Is it really necessary?
Tact and common sense tell us to pass over it in silence,
like a scandal in Life's highest circles.
Perfectly good children are born without its help.
It couldn't populate the planet in a million years,
it comes along so rarely. (True Love)
Let's face it:
it knows how to make beauty.
The splendid fire-glow in midnight skies.
Magnificent bursting bombs in rosy dawns.
You can't deny the inspiring pathos of ruins
and a certain bawdy humor to be found
in the sturdy column jutting from their midst. (Hatred)
There are not enough mouths to utter
all your fleeting names, O water.
…
You've been in christening fonts and courtesans' baths.
In coffins and kisses.
Gnawing at stone, feeding rainbows.
In the sweat and the dew of pyramids and lilacs.
How light the raindrop's contents are.
How gently the world touches me.
Whenever wherever whatever has happened
is written on waters of Babel. (Water)
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.
…
For all its charms, the island is uninhabited,
and the faint footprints scattered on its beaches
turn without exception to the sea.
As if all you can do here is leave
and plunge, never to return, into the depths.
Into unfathomable life. (Utopia)
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. (The Joy of Writing)
Few of them made it to thirty.
Old age was the privilege of rocks and trees.
Childhood ended as fast as wolf cubs grow.
One had to hurry, to get on with life
before the sun went down,
before the first snow. (Our Ancestors' Short Lives)
Nothing has changed.
Except for the courses of rivers,
the contours of forests, seashores, deserts, and icebergs.
Among these landscapes the poor soul winds,
vanishes, returns, approaches, recedes.
A stranger to itself, evasive,
at one moment sure, the next unsure of its existence,
while the body is and is and is and has no place to go. (Torture)
So he's got to have happiness,
he's got to have truth, too,
he's got to have eternity
did you ever!
…
And as far as being goes, he really tries quite hard.
Quite hard indeed - one must admit.
With that ring in his nose, with that toga, that sweater.
He's no end of fun, for all you say.
Poor little beggar.
A human, if ever we saw one. (No End of Fun)