Poems New And Collected Quotes

“When I pronounce the word Future,
the first syllable already belongs to the past.

When I pronounce the word Silence,
I destroy it.”
― Wisława Szymborska, Poems New And Collected

“No day copies yesterday,
no two nights will teach what bliss is
in precisely the same way,
with precisely the same kisses.”
― Wisława Szymborska, Poems New And Collected

“Four billion people on this earth
but my imagination is still the same.
It's bad with large numbers.
It's still taken by particularity.
It flits in the dark like a flashlight,
illuminating only random faces
while all the rest go by,
never coming to mind and never really missed.”
― Wislawa Szymborska, Poems New And Collected

“My choices are rejections, since there is no other way,
but what I reject is more numerous,
denser, more demanding than before.
A little poem, a sigh, at the cost of indescribable loss.”
― Wisława Szymborska, Poems New And Collected

“You were saved because you were the first.
You were saved because you were the last.
Alone. With others.
On the right. The left.
Because it was raining. Because of the shade.
Because the day was sunny.”
― Wislawa Szymborska, Poems New and Selected 1957-1997

“But any knowledge that doesn’t lead to new questions quickly dies out: it fails to maintain the temperature required for sustaining life.”
― Wisława Szymborska, Poems New and Collected

“Nothing can ever happen twice. In consequence, the sorry fact is that we arrive here improvised and leave without the chance to practice.   Even”
― Wisława Szymborska, Poems New and Collected

“Classifieds"

WHOEVER’S found out what location
compassion (heart’s imagination)
can be contacted at these days,
is herewith urged to name the place;
and sing about it in full voice,
and dance like crazy and rejoice
beneath the frail birch that appears
to be upon the verge of tears.

I TEACH silence
in all languages
through intensive examination of:
the starry sky,
the Sinanthropus’ jaws,
a grasshopper’s hop,
an infant’s fingernails,
plankton,
a snowflake.

I RESTORE lost love.
Act now! Special offer!
You lie on last year’s grass
bathed in sunlight to the chin
while winds of summers past
caress your hair and seem
to lead you in a dance.
For further details, write: “Dream.”

WANTED: someone to mourn
the elderly who die
alone in old folks’ homes.
Applicants, don’t send forms
or birth certificates.
All papers will be torn,
no receipts will be issued
at this or later dates.

FOR PROMISES made by my spouse,
who’s tricked so many with his sweet
colors and fragrances and sounds–
dogs barking, guitars in the street–
into believing that they still
might conquer loneliness and fright,
I cannot be responsible.
Mr. Day’s widow, Mrs. Night.”
― Wisława Szymborska, Poems New And Collected

“But in the language of poetry, where every word is weighed, nothing is usual or normal. Not a single stone and not a single cloud above it.”
― Wisława Szymborska, Poems New and Collected

“Most of the earth's inhabitants work to get by. They work because they have to. They didn't pick this or that occupation out of passion; the circumstances of their lives did the choosing for them.”
― Wisława Szymborska, Poems New And Collected

“Merciless song, you leave me with my lone, nonconvertible, unmetamorphic body: I’m one-time-only to the marrow of my bones. Four A.M. The hour between night and day. The hour between toss and turn. The hour of thirty-year-olds. The hour swept clean for roosters’ crowing. The hour when the earth takes back its warm embrace. The hour of cool drafts from extinguished stars. The hour of do-we-vanish-too-without-a-trace. Empty hour. Hollow. Vain. Rock bottom of all the other hours. No one feels fine at four a.m. If ants feel fine at four a.m., we’re happy for the ants. And let five a.m. come if we’ve got to go on living.”
― Wisława Szymborska, Poems New and Collected

“So poets keep on trying, and sooner or later the consecutive results of their self-dissatisfaction are clipped together with a giant paperclip by literary historians and called their “oeuvres.”
― Wisława Szymborska, Poems New and Collected

“They’ll reenter their lives’ cages, where love’s tiger sometimes rages, but the beast’s too tame to bite.   We’ll”
― Wisława Szymborska, Poems New and Collected

“A thousand and one is still only a thousand. That one seems never to have existed: a”
― Wisława Szymborska, Poems New and Collected

“I let myself be invented, modeled on my own reflection in his eyes. I dance, dance, dance in the stir of sudden wings.   The”
― Wisława Szymborska, Poems New and Collected

“When they said he didn’t exist, he couldn’t die of grief, so he had to be born. He’s already out there living somewhere; he blinks his little eyes and grows.”
― Wisława Szymborska, Poems New and Collected

“Funny little thing. How could she know that even despair can work for you if you’re lucky enough to outlive it.   I’d”
― Wisława Szymborska, Poems New and Collected

“How many, after a shorter or longer life (if they still see a difference), good, because it’s beginning, bad, because it’s over (if they don’t prefer the reverse),”
― Wisława Szymborska, Poems New and Collected

“So poets keep on trying, and sooner or later the consecutive results of their self-dissatisfaction are clipped together with a giant paperclip by literary historians and called their “oeuvres.” I”
― Wisława Szymborska, Poems New and Collected

“Eve from the rib, Venus from foam,
Minerva from Jupiter’s head –
All three were more real than me.

When he isn’t looking at me,
I try to catch my reflection
on the wall. And I see the nail
where a picture used to be.”
― Wisława Szymborska, Poems New And Collected

“The track’s all yours. We won’t get in your way: by then we will have set off chasing ourselves rather than you.”
― Wisława Szymborska, Poems New and Collected

“In these lands you’re a name to avoid, you’re bound for defeat, you’re a sign pointing out those who must be destroyed.   At”
― Wisława Szymborska, Poems New and Collected

“Kucam na vrata kamena.
-To sam ja, pusti me.
Hoću da uđem u tvoju unutrašnjost,
da pogledam uokolo,
da te upijem kao dah.

-Odlazi! - kaže kamen -
Čvrsto sam zatvoren.
Čak razbijeni na komade
bićemo čvrsto zatvoreni.
Čak smrvljeni u prah
nećemo nikoga pustiti.

Kucam na vrata kamena.
-To sam ja, pusti me.
Dolazim iz čiste radoznalosti.
Za nju je život jedina prilika.
Želim da prođem tvojim dvorcem
zatim da posjetim list i kaplju vode.
Malo vremena imam za to.
Moja smrtnost mora te uzbuditi.

-Ja sam od kamena - kaže kamen -
i svakako moram sačuvati ozbiljnost.
Odlazi odavde,
nemam mišiće smijeha.

Kucam na vrata kamena.
-To sam ja, pusti me.
Čula sam da su u tebi velike prazne sale,
neviđene, neopisivo lijepe,
gluhe, bez eha bilo čijih koraka.
Priznaj da i sam malo o tome znaš.

-Velike i prazne sale - kaže kamen -
ali u njima nema mjesta.
Lijepe su, možda, ali izvan ukusa
tvojih jadnih čula.
Možeš me upoznati, poznavati me nećeš
nikad,
čitavom površinom okrećem se prema tebi,
a čitavom unutrašnjošću na drugu stranu.

Kucam na vrata kamena.
-To sam ja, pusti me.
Ne tražim u tebi utočište za vječnost.
Nisam nesrećna.
Nisam beskućnik.
Moj svijet je vrijedan povratka.
Ući ću i izaći praznih ruku.
A kao dokaz da sam stvarno bila
neću dati ništa osim riječi
kojima niko ne vjeruje.

-Nećeš ući - kaže kamen -
Nemaš čulo učešća.
Nijedno čulo ne može ti zamijeniti
čulo učešća.
Čak i pogled izoštren do svevidenja
ne vrijedi ti ništa bez čula učešća.
Nećeš ući, imaš jedva zrno toga čula.
Jedva njegov začetak, uobrazilju.

Kucam na vrata kamena.
-To sam ja, pusti me.
Ne mogu čekati dvije hiljade vijekova
da udem pod tvoj krov.

-Ako mi ne vjeruješ - kaže kamen -
obrati se listu, reći će ti što i ja.
Kapi vode, reći će ti što i list.
Konačno, pitaj vlas sa sopstvene glave.
Smijeh me obuzima, smijeh, neobuzdani smijeh,
kojim se smijati ne smijem.

Kucam na vrata kamena.
-To sam ja, pusti me.

-Nemam vrata - kaže kamen.”
― Wisława Szymborska, Poems New And Collected

“The hour between night and day. The hour between toss and turn. The hour of thirty-year-olds. The hour swept clean for roosters’ crowing. The hour when the earth takes back its warm embrace. The hour of cool drafts from extinguished stars. The hour of do-we-vanish-too-without-a-trace. Empty hour. Hollow. Vain. Rock bottom of all the other hours. No one feels fine at four a.m. If ants feel fine at four a.m., we’re happy for the ants. And let five a.m. come if we’ve got to go on living. Still Life with a Balloon”
― Wisława Szymborska, Poems New and Collected

“I RESTORE lost love.
Act now! Special offer!
You lie on last year's grass
bathed in sunlight to the chin
while winds of summers past
caress your hair and seem
to lead you in a dance.
For further details, write: "Dream.”
― Wisława Szymborska, Poems New And Collected