Wisława Szymborska > Quotes

“I'm old-fashioned and think that reading books is the most glorious pastime that humankind has yet devised.”
― Wisława Szymborska

“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 nonbeing can hold.”
― Wisława Szymborska

“The joy of writing.
The power of preserving.
Revenge of a mortal hand.
”
― Wisława Szymborska, View With a Grain of Sand: Selected Poems

“Nothing has changed.
The body is susceptible to pain,
It must eat and breath 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 is 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 on the other side of the wall.

Nothing has changed.
It’s just that there are more people,
Besides the old offenses, new ones have appeared,
Real, imaginary, temporary, and none,
But the howl with which the body responds to them,
Was, and is, and ever will be a howl of innocence
According to the time-honored scale and tonality.

Nothing has changed.
Maybe just the manners, ceremonies, dances,
Yet the movement of the hands in protecting the head is the same.
The body writhes, jerks, and tries to pull away
Its legs give out, it falls, the knees fly up,
It turns blue, swells, salivates, and bleeds.

Nothing has changed.
Except of course for the course of boundaries,
The lines of forests, coasts, deserts, and glaciers.
Amid these landscapes traipses the soul,
Disappears, comes back, draws nearer, moves away,
Alien to itself, elusive
At times certain, at others uncertain of its own existence,
While the body is and is and is
And has no place of its own.
”
― Wisława Szymborska

“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.”
― Wisława Szymborska

“A Note

Life is the only way
to get covered in leaves,
catch your breath on the sand,
rise on wings;

to be a dog,
or stroke its warm fur;

to tell pain
from everything it's not;

to squeeze inside events,
dawdle in views,
to seek the least of all possible mistakes.

An extraordinary chance
to remember for a moment
a conversation held
with the lamp switched off;

and if only once
to stumble upon a stone,
end up soaked in one downpour or another,

mislay your keys in the grass;
and to follow a spark on the wind with your eyes;
and to keep on not knowing
something important.”
― Wisława Szymborska

“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.

We can count on it
when we’re sure of nothing
and curious about everything.

Among the material objects
it favors clocks with pendulums
and mirrors, which keep on working
even when no one is looking.

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.”
― Wisława Szymborska

“Love at First Sight



Both are convinced
that a sudden surge of emotion bound them together.
Beautiful is such a certainty,
but uncertainty is more beautiful.

Because they didn’t know each other earlier, they suppose that
nothing was happening between them.
What of the streets, stairways and corridors
where they could have passed each other long ago?

I’d like to ask them
whether they remember— perhaps in a revolving door
ever being face to face?
an “excuse me” in a crowd
or a voice “wrong number” in the receiver.
But I know their answer:
no, they don’t remember.

They’d be greatly astonished
to learn that for a long time
chance had been playing with them.

Not yet wholly ready
to transform into fate for them
it approached them, then backed off,
stood in their way
and, suppressing a giggle,
jumped to the side. There were signs, signals:
but what of it if they were illegible.
Perhaps three years ago,
or last Tuesday
did a certain leaflet fly
from shoulder to shoulder?
There was something lost and picked up.
Who knows but what it was a ball
in the bushes of childhood.

There were doorknobs and bells
on which earlier
touch piled on touch.
Bags beside each other in the luggage room.
Perhaps they had the same dream on a certain night,
suddenly erased after waking.

Every beginning
is but a continuation,
and the book of events
is never more than half open.

-translated by Walter Whipple”
― Wisława Szymborska

“Somewhere out there the world must have an end.”
― Wisława Szymborska

“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 blindly by,
never coming to mind and never really missed. . . .
I can't tell you how much I pass over in silence.”
― Wisława Szymborska

“When it comes, you’ll be dreaming
that you don’t need to breathe;
that breathless silence is
the music of the dark
and it’s part of the rhythm
to vanish like a spark.”
― Wisława Szymborska

“Every beginning, after all, is nothing but a sequel, and the book of events is always open in the middle.”
― Wisława Szymborska

“Dying - you can't do that to a cat.”
― Wisława Szymborska

“But they know about us, they know,
the four corners, and the chairs nearby us.
Discerning shadows also know,
and even the table keeps quiet.”
― Wisława Szymborska

“...They'd be amazed to hear
that Chance has been toying with them
now for years.

Not quite ready yet
To become their Destiny,
it pushed them close, drove them apart,
it barred their path,
stifling a laugh,
and then leaped aside.

There were signs and signals,

Even if they couldn't read them yet.
Perhaps three years ago
or just last Tuesday
a certain leaf fluttered
from one shoulder to another?
Something was dropped and then picked up.
Who knows, maybe the ball that vanished into childhood's thicket?

There were doorknobs and doorbells
where one touch had covered another
beforehand.
Suitcases checked and standing side by side.
One night, perhaps, the same dream,
grown hazy by morning.

Every beginning
Is only a sequel, after all,
and the book of events
is always open halfway through.”
― Wisława Szymborska

“هیچ چیز دوبار اتفاق نمی افتد
[ترجمه‌ی مارک اسموژنسکی، شهرام شیدایی، چوکا چکاد]


هیچ چیز دوبار اتفاق نمی افتد
و اتفاق نخواهد افتاد. به همین دلیل
ناشی به دنیا آمده ایم
و خام خواهیم رفت.

حتا اگر کودن ترین شاگردِ مدرسه ی دنیا می بودیم
هیچ زمستانی یا تابستانی را تکرار نمی کردیم

هیچ روزی تکرار نمی شود
دوشب شبیه ِ هم نیست
دوبوسه یکی نیستند
نگاه قبلی مثل نگاه بعدی نیست

دیروز ، وقتی کسی در حضور من
اسم تو را بلند گفت
طوری شدم، که انگار گل رزی از پنجره ی باز
به اتاق افتاده باشد.

امروز که با همیم
رو به دیوار کردم
رز! رز چه شکلی است؟
آیا رز، گل است؟ شاید سنگ باشد

ای ساعت بد هنگام
چرا با ترس بی دلیل می آمیزی؟
هستی - پس باید سپری شوی
سپری می شوی- زیبایی در همین است

هر دو خندان ونیمه در آغوش هم
می کوشیم بتوانیم آشتی کنیم
هر چند باهم متفاوتیم
مثل دو قطره ی آب زلال.”
― Wisława Szymborska, آدم‌ها روی پل

“there were doorknobs and doorbells
where one touch had covered another
beforehand.
suitcases checked and standing side by side.
one night, perhaps, the same dream
grown hazy by morning.

every beginning
is only a sequel, after all,
and the book of events
is always open halfway through.”
― Wisława Szymborska

“Out of a hundred people:
Those who always know better- 52
Doubting every step- all the rest
Glad to lend a hand if it doesn’t take too long- as high as 49
Always good, because they can’t be otherwise- 4 maybe 5
Able to admire without envy- 18
Living in constant fear of something or someone- 77
Capable of happiness- 20 something tops
Harmless singly, savage in crowds- half at least
Wise after the fact- just a couple more than wise before it
Taking only things from life- 30 (I wish I were wrong)
Righteous- 35, which is a lot
Righteous and understanding- 3
Worthy of compassion- 99
Mortal- 100 out of 100 (Thus far this figure still remains unchanged.)”
― Wisława Szymborska

“One more comment from the heart: I’m old fashioned and think that reading books is the most glorious pastime that humankind has yet devised. Homo Ludens dances, sings, produces meaningful gestures, strikes poses, dresses up, revels and performs elaborate rituals. I don’t wish to diminish the significance of these distractions-without them human life would pass in unimaginable monotony and possibly dispersion and defeat. But these are group activities above which drifts a more or less perceptible whiff of collective gymnastics. Homo Ludens with a book is free. At least as free as he’s capable of being. He himself makes up the rules of the game, which are subject only to his own curiosity. He’s permitted to read intelligent books, from which he will benefit, as well as stupid ones, from which he may also learn something. He can stop before finishing one book, if he wishes, while starting another at the end and working his way back to the beginning. He may laugh in the wrong places or stop short at words he’ll keep for a life time. And finally, he’s free-and no other hobby can promise this-to eavesdrop on Montaigne’s arguments or take a quick dip in the Mesozoic.”
― Wisława Szymborska, Nonrequired Reading

“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.”
― Wisława Szymborska

“A che serve qui chiedersi
sotto quante stelle nasce l'uomo,
e sotto quante dopo un attimo muore.”
― Wisława Szymborska

“At the very beginning of my creative life I loved humanity. I wanted to do something good for mankind. Soon I understood that it isn’t possible to save mankind.”
― Wisława Szymborska

“I'm one-time-only to the marrow of my bones.”
― Wisława Szymborska

“نکته
[ترجمه‌‌ی محسن عمادی]


خواهرم شعر نمی‌‌گه
خيلی بعيده که یهو شروع کنه به شعر گفتن
به مادرش رفته، که شعر ننوشت
و به پدرش که اونم شعر ننوشت.
تو خونه‌ی خواهرم احساس امنيت می‌کنم:
هيچی باعث نمی‌شه شوهرش شعر بگه.
چه‌برسه عين يه شعر از آدام ماکدونسکی دربياد.
هيچ‌کی از فاميلام دربند شعر‌گفتن نيس.

رو ميز خواهرم شعر کهنه پيدا نمی‌شه
شعر نو هم اصلا تو کيف دستیش نيس.
وقتی منو واسه شام دعوت می‌کنه
می دونم که خيال شعر خوندن نداره
سوپای ناب بار می ذاره و هيچ‌وقت خدا کار نيم‌بند نمی‌کنه
قهوه‌ هم رو دست‌نوشته‌هاش نمی‌ريزه

تو خيلی از فاميلا هيچکی شعر نمی‌گه
اگه هم بگن گاس فقط يه نفره
يه وقتايی شعر راه می افته تو آبشار نسلا
که گرداب وحشتو تو روابط خونواده‌ها بپا می کنه
خواهرم مروج يه نثر گفتنی محجوبه
همه‌ی ماحصل ادبيش رو کارت‌پستالای سفره
که هرسال قول همون يه‌چيزو می ده:
که وقتی بر‌گشت
بهمون ‌میگه: همه‌چيزو
همه‌چيزو
همه‌چيز.”
― Wisława Szymborska