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Sounds, Feelings, Thoughts: Seventy Poems by Wisława Szymborska
Regarded as one of the best representatives since World War II of the rich and ancient art of poetry in Poland, Wislawa Szymborska (1923-2012) is, in the translators' words, -that rarest of phenomena: a serious poet who commands a large audience in her native land.- The seventy poems in this bilingual edition are among the largest and most representative offering of her work in English, with particular emphasis on the period since 1967. They illustrate virtually all her major themes and most of her important techniques.
Describing Szymborka's poetry, Magnus Krynski and Robert Maguire write that her verse is marked by high seriousness, delightful inventiveness, a prodigal imagination, and enormous technical skill. She writes of the diversity, plenitude, and richness of the world, taking delight in observing and naming its phenomena. She looks on with wonder, astonishment, and amusement, but almost never with despair.
Describing Szymborka's poetry, Magnus Krynski and Robert Maguire write that her verse is marked by high seriousness, delightful inventiveness, a prodigal imagination, and enormous technical skill. She writes of the diversity, plenitude, and richness of the world, taking delight in observing and naming its phenomena. She looks on with wonder, astonishment, and amusement, but almost never with despair.
261 pages, Paperback
First published August 1, 1981
About the author
Wisława Szymborska
238 books1,636 followersWisława Szymborska (Polish pronunciation: [vʲisˈwava ʂɨmˈbɔrska], born July 2, 1923 in Kórnik, Poland) is a Polish poet, essayist, and translator. She was awarded the 1996 Nobel Prize in Literature. In Poland, her books reach sales rivaling prominent prose authors—although she once remarked in a poem entitled "Some like poetry" [Niektórzy lubią poezję] that no more than two out of a thousand people care for the art.
Szymborska frequently employs literary devices such as irony, paradox, contradiction, and understatement, to illuminate philosophical themes and obsessions. Szymborska's compact poems often conjure large existential puzzles, touching on issues of ethical import, and reflecting on the condition of people both as individuals and as members of human society. Szymborska's style is succinct and marked by introspection and wit.
Szymborska's reputation rests on a relatively small body of work: she has not published more than 250 poems to date. She is often described as modest to the point of shyness[citation needed]. She has long been cherished by Polish literary contemporaries (including Czesław Miłosz) and her poetry has been set to music by Zbigniew Preisner. Szymborska became better known internationally after she was awarded the 1996 Nobel Prize. Szymborska's work has been translated into many European languages, as well as into Arabic, Hebrew, Japanese and Chinese.
In 1931, Szymborska's family moved to Kraków. She has been linked with this city, where she studied, worked.
When World War II broke out in 1939, she continued her education in underground lessons. From 1943, she worked as a railroad employee and managed to avoid being deported to Germany as a forced labourer. It was during this time that her career as an artist began with illustrations for an English-language textbook. She also began writing stories and occasional poems.
Beginning in 1945, Szymborska took up studies of Polish language and literature before switching to sociology at the Jagiellonian University in Kraków. There she soon became involved in the local writing scene, and met and was influenced by Czesław Miłosz. In March 1945, she published her first poem Szukam słowa ("I seek the word") in the daily paper Dziennik Polski; her poems continued to be published in various newspapers and periodicals for a number of years. In 1948 she quit her studies without a degree, due to her poor financial circumstances; the same year, she married poet Adam Włodek, whom she divorced in 1954. At that time, she was working as a secretary for an educational biweekly magazine as well as an illustrator.
During Stalinism in Poland in 1953 she participated in the defamation of Catholic priests from Kraków who were groundlessly condemned by the ruling Communists to death.[1] Her first book was to be published in 1949, but did not pass censorship as it "did not meet socialist requirements." Like many other intellectuals in post-war Poland, however, Szymborska remained loyal to the PRL official ideology early in her career, signing political petitions and praising Stalin, Lenin and the realities of socialism. This attitude is seen in her debut collection Dlatego żyjemy ("That is what we are living for"), containing the poems Lenin and Młodzieży budującej Nową Hutę ("For the Youth that Builds Nowa Huta"), about the construction of a Stalinist industrial town near Kraków. She also became a member of the ruling Polish United Workers' Party.
Like many Polish intellectuals initially close to the official party line, Szymborska gradually grew estranged from socialist ideology and renounced her earlier political work. Although she did not officially leave the party until 1966, she began to establish contacts with dissidents. As early as 1957, she befriended Jerzy Giedroyc, the editor of the influential Paris-based emigré journal Kultura, to which she also contributed. In 1964 s
Szymborska frequently employs literary devices such as irony, paradox, contradiction, and understatement, to illuminate philosophical themes and obsessions. Szymborska's compact poems often conjure large existential puzzles, touching on issues of ethical import, and reflecting on the condition of people both as individuals and as members of human society. Szymborska's style is succinct and marked by introspection and wit.
Szymborska's reputation rests on a relatively small body of work: she has not published more than 250 poems to date. She is often described as modest to the point of shyness[citation needed]. She has long been cherished by Polish literary contemporaries (including Czesław Miłosz) and her poetry has been set to music by Zbigniew Preisner. Szymborska became better known internationally after she was awarded the 1996 Nobel Prize. Szymborska's work has been translated into many European languages, as well as into Arabic, Hebrew, Japanese and Chinese.
In 1931, Szymborska's family moved to Kraków. She has been linked with this city, where she studied, worked.
When World War II broke out in 1939, she continued her education in underground lessons. From 1943, she worked as a railroad employee and managed to avoid being deported to Germany as a forced labourer. It was during this time that her career as an artist began with illustrations for an English-language textbook. She also began writing stories and occasional poems.
Beginning in 1945, Szymborska took up studies of Polish language and literature before switching to sociology at the Jagiellonian University in Kraków. There she soon became involved in the local writing scene, and met and was influenced by Czesław Miłosz. In March 1945, she published her first poem Szukam słowa ("I seek the word") in the daily paper Dziennik Polski; her poems continued to be published in various newspapers and periodicals for a number of years. In 1948 she quit her studies without a degree, due to her poor financial circumstances; the same year, she married poet Adam Włodek, whom she divorced in 1954. At that time, she was working as a secretary for an educational biweekly magazine as well as an illustrator.
During Stalinism in Poland in 1953 she participated in the defamation of Catholic priests from Kraków who were groundlessly condemned by the ruling Communists to death.[1] Her first book was to be published in 1949, but did not pass censorship as it "did not meet socialist requirements." Like many other intellectuals in post-war Poland, however, Szymborska remained loyal to the PRL official ideology early in her career, signing political petitions and praising Stalin, Lenin and the realities of socialism. This attitude is seen in her debut collection Dlatego żyjemy ("That is what we are living for"), containing the poems Lenin and Młodzieży budującej Nową Hutę ("For the Youth that Builds Nowa Huta"), about the construction of a Stalinist industrial town near Kraków. She also became a member of the ruling Polish United Workers' Party.
Like many Polish intellectuals initially close to the official party line, Szymborska gradually grew estranged from socialist ideology and renounced her earlier political work. Although she did not officially leave the party until 1966, she began to establish contacts with dissidents. As early as 1957, she befriended Jerzy Giedroyc, the editor of the influential Paris-based emigré journal Kultura, to which she also contributed. In 1964 s
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 39 reviews
March 5, 2017
When the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1996 was awarded to Wislawa Szymborska, the selection committee for once did not screw the pooch. In Poland, poetry is very much alive; and Wislawa Szymborska is very much the poet of the people. Even in translation, the poems in Sounds, Feelings, Thoughts, are by turns delightful and profound. I read a library copy of this book, and now I find I must purchase my own copy -- this one is a keeper.
In a poem about travel entitled "Travel Elegy", she writes:
In a poem about travel entitled "Travel Elegy", she writes:
I won't retain one blade of grassOn the inevitability of history, we have "There But for the Grace," which begins:
in sharp contour.
Greeting and farewell
in a single glance.
For excess and for lack
a single movement of the neck.
It could have happened,Poland, like my native Hungary, is on one of the two main invasion paths into Europe. You have to have a sense of humor about it -- but note that some melancholy is inevitable.
It had to happen.
It happened sooner. Later.
Nearer. Farther.
It happened not to you.
You survived because you were the first.
You survived because you were the last.
Because you were alone. Because of people.
Because you turned left. Because you turned right.
Because rain fell. Because a shadow fell.
Because sunny weather prevailed.
Read
January 9, 2024Under a Certain Little Star
I apologize to coincidence for calling it necessity.
I apologize to necessity just in case I'm mistaken.
Let happiness be not angry that I take it as my own.
Let the dead not remember they scarcely smoulder in my
memory.
I apologize to time for the muchness of the world overlooked per
second.
I apologize to old love for regarding the new as the first.
Forgive me, far-off wars, for bringing flowers home.
Forgive me, open wounds, for pricking my finger.
I apologize to those who cry out of the depths for the minuetrecord.
I apologize to people at railway stations for sleeping at five in
the morning.
Pardon me, hounded hope, for laughing now and again.
Pardon me, deserts, for not rushing up with a spoonful of water.
And you, O falcon, the same these many years, in that same
cage,
forever staring motionless at that self-same spot,
absolve me, even though you are but a stuffed bird.
I apologize to the cut-down tree for the table's four legs.
I apologize to big questions for small answers.
O Truth, do not pay me too much heed.
0 Solemnity, be magnanimous unto me.
Endure, mystery of existence, that I pluck out the threads of
your train.
Accuse me not, O soul, of possessing you but seldom.
1 apologize to everything that I cannot be everywhere.
I apologize to everyone that I cannot be every man and woman.
I know that as long as I live nothing can justify me,
because I myself am an obstacle to myself.
Take it not amiss, O speech, that I borrow weighty words,
and later try hard to make them seem light.
I apologize to coincidence for calling it necessity.
I apologize to necessity just in case I'm mistaken.
Let happiness be not angry that I take it as my own.
Let the dead not remember they scarcely smoulder in my
memory.
I apologize to time for the muchness of the world overlooked per
second.
I apologize to old love for regarding the new as the first.
Forgive me, far-off wars, for bringing flowers home.
Forgive me, open wounds, for pricking my finger.
I apologize to those who cry out of the depths for the minuetrecord.
I apologize to people at railway stations for sleeping at five in
the morning.
Pardon me, hounded hope, for laughing now and again.
Pardon me, deserts, for not rushing up with a spoonful of water.
And you, O falcon, the same these many years, in that same
cage,
forever staring motionless at that self-same spot,
absolve me, even though you are but a stuffed bird.
I apologize to the cut-down tree for the table's four legs.
I apologize to big questions for small answers.
O Truth, do not pay me too much heed.
0 Solemnity, be magnanimous unto me.
Endure, mystery of existence, that I pluck out the threads of
your train.
Accuse me not, O soul, of possessing you but seldom.
1 apologize to everything that I cannot be everywhere.
I apologize to everyone that I cannot be every man and woman.
I know that as long as I live nothing can justify me,
because I myself am an obstacle to myself.
Take it not amiss, O speech, that I borrow weighty words,
and later try hard to make them seem light.
August 2, 2019
This is the earliest major collection of Szymborska's selected poems in English language. Though in many ways superseded by Baranczak and Cavanagh's later translations, many of these 70 poems in Kryński and Maguire's translation are more than just readable and, in some cases, nearly the best renditions. Since this collection was published in 1981, many of Szymborska's later great poems are not presented but a good number of the earlier famous (and less famous) ones are here.
July 21, 2011
'within the four walls of avalanches, I call out to Yeti.
Stomping my feet for warmth
on the snow
the snow eternal.'
Stomping my feet for warmth
on the snow
the snow eternal.'
February 16, 2026
Wislawa Szymborska’s poetry has a kind of tenderness-in-irony that I’d never encountered before. Wendy Cope and Vera Pavlova come to mind, but lack Szymborska‘s intellectual predilections (Latin adages, biblical allusions, architectural nomenclature, etc…). Travel Elegy , for example, is a melancholic account of fragments and incomplete memories.
[…] of the town of samokov, only rain […]
Of Boulevard Saint Martin only the steps remain
And lead into extinction […]
Advertisement is narrated from the perspective of a tranquilizer, like some Faustian pharmacist who implores,
Hand your abyss over to me—
I will line it with soft sleep
You’ll be grateful for
The 4-footed landing
Sell me your soul
There‘s no other buyer likely to turn up.
There‘s no other devil left.
Several love poems transcend the romantic, with A Happy Love defending love with irony in lieu of earnestness.
Let people who know naught of happy love
Assert that nowhere is there a happy love
With such faith they would find it easier to live and to die.
Gratitude is an ode to those who are not beloved.
[…] I do not wait for them
From window to door […]
I forgive
What love would never forgive.
Poems like Portrait of a Woman touched me to my core, or whatever it’s called that’s deep inside me and seldom stirred; while Warning , which cautions against taking haters into the cosmos, warranted a laugh.
nothing will please them
Time—because it’s eternal
Beauty— because it’s without blemish .
Szymborska’s poetry is the real deal. 6 stars. Highest recommendations.
[…] of the town of samokov, only rain […]
Of Boulevard Saint Martin only the steps remain
And lead into extinction […]
Advertisement is narrated from the perspective of a tranquilizer, like some Faustian pharmacist who implores,
Hand your abyss over to me—
I will line it with soft sleep
You’ll be grateful for
The 4-footed landing
Sell me your soul
There‘s no other buyer likely to turn up.
There‘s no other devil left.
Several love poems transcend the romantic, with A Happy Love defending love with irony in lieu of earnestness.
Let people who know naught of happy love
Assert that nowhere is there a happy love
With such faith they would find it easier to live and to die.
Gratitude is an ode to those who are not beloved.
[…] I do not wait for them
From window to door […]
I forgive
What love would never forgive.
Poems like Portrait of a Woman touched me to my core, or whatever it’s called that’s deep inside me and seldom stirred; while Warning , which cautions against taking haters into the cosmos, warranted a laugh.
nothing will please them
Time—because it’s eternal
Beauty— because it’s without blemish .
Szymborska’s poetry is the real deal. 6 stars. Highest recommendations.
February 23, 2021
"As for me, I'm alive, please believe me.
The race with my dress is still on.
You can't imagine my rival's will to win!
And how much it would like to outlast me!"
- The Museum
Sounds, Feelings, Thoughts: Seventy Poems is the first work by the Polish poet, essayist, translator, and recipient of the 1996 Nobel Prize in Literature, Wislawa Szymborska. The book is a beautiful selection of poems, which serves as a testament to Symborka's seriousness and giftedness as a writer.
"I believe in the refusal to take part.
I believe in the ruined career.
I believe in the wasted years of work.
I believe in the secret taken to the grave.
These words soar for me beyond all rules
without seeking support from actual examples.
My faith is strong, blind, and without foundation."
- Discovery
The depth of her imagination and inventiveness, combined with her lightness, humor, and sense of irony brought life into her poetry, which themes revolve around the values of daily events and observations on our environment that escape our attention or that we tend to ignore.
"How light the raindrop's contents are.
How gently the world touches me."
- Water
Indeed, nobody can turn a blind eye to her vast imagery and masterful technical craft. As the 1996 Nobel committee had acknowledged, Szymborska's poetry presents "ironic precision" which "allows the historical and biological context to come to light in fragments of human reality."
Rating: 4/5
The race with my dress is still on.
You can't imagine my rival's will to win!
And how much it would like to outlast me!"
- The Museum
Sounds, Feelings, Thoughts: Seventy Poems is the first work by the Polish poet, essayist, translator, and recipient of the 1996 Nobel Prize in Literature, Wislawa Szymborska. The book is a beautiful selection of poems, which serves as a testament to Symborka's seriousness and giftedness as a writer.
"I believe in the refusal to take part.
I believe in the ruined career.
I believe in the wasted years of work.
I believe in the secret taken to the grave.
These words soar for me beyond all rules
without seeking support from actual examples.
My faith is strong, blind, and without foundation."
- Discovery
The depth of her imagination and inventiveness, combined with her lightness, humor, and sense of irony brought life into her poetry, which themes revolve around the values of daily events and observations on our environment that escape our attention or that we tend to ignore.
"How light the raindrop's contents are.
How gently the world touches me."
- Water
Indeed, nobody can turn a blind eye to her vast imagery and masterful technical craft. As the 1996 Nobel committee had acknowledged, Szymborska's poetry presents "ironic precision" which "allows the historical and biological context to come to light in fragments of human reality."
Rating: 4/5
December 28, 2019
Many of these poems examine memory, the things we choose to single out and everything lost to our inattention, or the human inability to preserve detail.
Excerpt "From a Himalayan Expedition Not Made":
We inherit hope —
the gift of forgetting.
You will see how we bear
children in the ruins.
***
Excerpt "Water":
How much lightness there is in a drop of rain.
How delicately does the world touch me.
***
An Unexpected Meeting
We treat each other with exceeding courtesy;
we says, it’s great to see you after all these years.
Our tigers drink milk.
Our hawks tread the ground.
Our sharks have all drowned.
Our wolves yawn beyond the open cage.
Our snakes have shed their lightning,
our apes their flights of fancy,
our peacocks have renounced their plumes.
The bats flew out of our hair long ago.
We fall silent in mid-sentence,
all smiles, past help.
Our humans
don’t know how to talk to one another.
***
Other favorites:
Monologue for Cassandra
Discovery
A Classic
(I stopped on page 147 to save some new poems for later.)
Excerpt "From a Himalayan Expedition Not Made":
We inherit hope —
the gift of forgetting.
You will see how we bear
children in the ruins.
***
Excerpt "Water":
How much lightness there is in a drop of rain.
How delicately does the world touch me.
***
An Unexpected Meeting
We treat each other with exceeding courtesy;
we says, it’s great to see you after all these years.
Our tigers drink milk.
Our hawks tread the ground.
Our sharks have all drowned.
Our wolves yawn beyond the open cage.
Our snakes have shed their lightning,
our apes their flights of fancy,
our peacocks have renounced their plumes.
The bats flew out of our hair long ago.
We fall silent in mid-sentence,
all smiles, past help.
Our humans
don’t know how to talk to one another.
***
Other favorites:
Monologue for Cassandra
Discovery
A Classic
(I stopped on page 147 to save some new poems for later.)
June 9, 2024
Because this is a collection of poems rather than a singular, cohesive work, it has some really provocative and impressive poems while also having ones that I really struggled to connect with (though that could be due to translation from Polish to English, so it's not too much of a fault). Overall, I see why Szymborska was given a Nobel Prize in Literature. She is really great at weaving existentialism and mythology into her poems while maintaining through irony a modern lens that is easily understandable.
Sometimes when I read poetry it feels like just, well, words on a page, I guess. For the most part, these poems don't give me that feeling. They're a bit simple or overstated at times, but I enjoyed them more than I did not.
Sometimes when I read poetry it feels like just, well, words on a page, I guess. For the most part, these poems don't give me that feeling. They're a bit simple or overstated at times, but I enjoyed them more than I did not.
February 4, 2025
some cuts:
For everyday purposes I believe in permanence, in the prospects for history.
I can't go on munching apples
in constant terror.
--
To die as much as necessary, without going too far.
To grow back as much as needed, from the remnant that survives.
--
I float through the air as is proper, that is, all by myself.
Falling from the roof
I can softly land on green grass.
I don't find it hard
to breathe under water.
I can't complain:
...
A few years ago I saw two suns.
And the day before yesterday a penguin. With the utmost clarity.
--
For everyday purposes I believe in permanence, in the prospects for history.
I can't go on munching apples
in constant terror.
--
To die as much as necessary, without going too far.
To grow back as much as needed, from the remnant that survives.
--
I float through the air as is proper, that is, all by myself.
Falling from the roof
I can softly land on green grass.
I don't find it hard
to breathe under water.
I can't complain:
...
A few years ago I saw two suns.
And the day before yesterday a penguin. With the utmost clarity.
--
December 7, 2022
I especially like "Life While You Wait"...it gave me pause. It made me glad I had taken a course in improv. I am prepared to meet each day. I can embrace life, live in the moment...it is all we have. I think, perhaps, do-overs or a script or a rehearsal would take away from that one rich and only performance. I am grateful for the writings of Wislawa and only wish I could read them in their native language. - Ginn
January 26, 2024
He disfrutado mucho entrando en el mundo de Wystawa Szymborska. Esta edición me ha permitido varios lujos y es hacer una lectura acompañada: con una introducción muy necesaria por parte de los traductores que marcan la vida de la obra, es una edición comentada de casi cada poema, y finalmente, un lujo filológico, curiosear la versión original en polaco...
Una joya, que necesita una lectura pausada.
Una joya, que necesita una lectura pausada.
May 2, 2024
«We, three billion judges, have our own problems, our own inarticulate swarms, railway stations, sports stadiums, processions, numerous foreign lands of streets, floors, walls.
We pass one another for eternity in dime stores while buying a new pitcher.
Homer holds down a job in the bureau of statistics.
No one knows what he does at home»
this is literally what ingraved in my brain from now on.
We pass one another for eternity in dime stores while buying a new pitcher.
Homer holds down a job in the bureau of statistics.
No one knows what he does at home»
this is literally what ingraved in my brain from now on.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
July 5, 2019
This collection, one of the first to bring Szymborska into English, gives an excellent sampling of her work up until the end of the 1970s. She's a fantastic poet with a huge range of reference and an often sparkling wit, one of my absolute favourites.
September 13, 2023
some of the most stark, beautifully written, and potent poetry i have read in a long time. i wish i knew the primary language (Polish?) so i could read them in the language Wislawa had natural command over.
September 21, 2025
Here a heavy heart, there non omnis moriar,
just three little words like three feathers in ascent.
The chasm does not cut us in two.
The chasm surrounds us.
An additional star for this poem's sake, which has shaped me during my darkest days.
just three little words like three feathers in ascent.
The chasm does not cut us in two.
The chasm surrounds us.
An additional star for this poem's sake, which has shaped me during my darkest days.
October 2, 2021
Polish poetry. Brilliant.
September 24, 2022
“Take if not amiss, O speech, that I borrow weighty words and later try hard to make them seem light.”
August 3, 2023
As always wonderful, but this collection did not strike me a strongly as her previous collections...different translators may be why.
April 2, 2024
"I owe a great deal
to those I do not love.
The relief with which I accept
they are dearer to someone else."
This book is the real deal. Wisława Szymborska forever.
to those I do not love.
The relief with which I accept
they are dearer to someone else."
This book is the real deal. Wisława Szymborska forever.
September 20, 2024
no fue este libro exactamente, pero de la antología de visor de poesía tengo marcadas como la mitad de las páginas
February 17, 2025
A masterpiece!
September 19, 2025
existential crisis inducing
May 14, 2017
A beautiful selection of poems, with each poem both in the original Polish and the translated English.
"Take it not amiss, O speech, that I borrow weighty words, / And later try hard to make them seem light." - from Under a Certain Little Star
September 6, 2008
Can't really give this one the larger review I normally give poetry because it just didn't move me one way or the other. Ms. Szymborska, perhaps as a defense mechanism to avoid the wrath of the state, is simply one of those inoffensive poets that writes in a style I just can't get myself into, no matter how technically brilliant the poems.
There are flashes of interest, here and there, such as "Family Album" which discusses the unromantic loves of most humans--"Romeos of consumption? Juliets of diphtheria?" was a line I liked quite a bit. Overall, however, I just wasn't moved, and when I'm not able to get inside the mindset of the poet, I am not able to recommend something to others.
Perhaps "Autonomy" explains the problem:
"When in danger, the sea-cucumber divides itself into two:
one self it surrenders for devouring by the world,
with the second it makes good its escape."
It feels like Szymborska splits herself into two as well--the public, in her poetry, gets a very superficial and technically correct set of lines. The other, private life--that which gives poetry its energy, at least for me--is screened off, split away. For me, I can't help but come away from this one wondering what would have happened if we got the poetry of the personal more often.
"Tarsier" is another example of the poet almost begging us to understand she wishes not to be noticed--it's about an animal too small to be cared about by the human race, and therefore spares itself from extinction. That may be as close to tweaking the nose of the Soviets as she gets in these 70 poems. More of that would have been welcome, though it's certainly understandable why we do not. Instead, the classical allusions abound, from Reubens to Troy (Though I can't help but think that there's a bit of politics in those references to a doomed city, too--am I reading too much into things?).
As this book dates from 1981, it's quite possible there's another side to Szymborska I missed out on here that takes the liberation of Poland as a way to liberate herself. However, with so many other poets to read, I'm not sure I'll take the time to try. This is a case where I would love to hear what others think. (Library, 09/08)
Trebby's Take: Just not enough of the person to hold my interest.
There are flashes of interest, here and there, such as "Family Album" which discusses the unromantic loves of most humans--"Romeos of consumption? Juliets of diphtheria?" was a line I liked quite a bit. Overall, however, I just wasn't moved, and when I'm not able to get inside the mindset of the poet, I am not able to recommend something to others.
Perhaps "Autonomy" explains the problem:
"When in danger, the sea-cucumber divides itself into two:
one self it surrenders for devouring by the world,
with the second it makes good its escape."
It feels like Szymborska splits herself into two as well--the public, in her poetry, gets a very superficial and technically correct set of lines. The other, private life--that which gives poetry its energy, at least for me--is screened off, split away. For me, I can't help but come away from this one wondering what would have happened if we got the poetry of the personal more often.
"Tarsier" is another example of the poet almost begging us to understand she wishes not to be noticed--it's about an animal too small to be cared about by the human race, and therefore spares itself from extinction. That may be as close to tweaking the nose of the Soviets as she gets in these 70 poems. More of that would have been welcome, though it's certainly understandable why we do not. Instead, the classical allusions abound, from Reubens to Troy (Though I can't help but think that there's a bit of politics in those references to a doomed city, too--am I reading too much into things?).
As this book dates from 1981, it's quite possible there's another side to Szymborska I missed out on here that takes the liberation of Poland as a way to liberate herself. However, with so many other poets to read, I'm not sure I'll take the time to try. This is a case where I would love to hear what others think. (Library, 09/08)
Trebby's Take: Just not enough of the person to hold my interest.
October 8, 2008
I finally sat down and worked my way through this book, and was duly rewarded. In addition to the hallmark irony of post-war Polish writers, Szymborska injects a sense of true wonder and delight in the world, without denying the fact of the inherent frustrations and difficulties. As a bonus, the Polish versions of the poems are on the facing pages, so you can see how closely hewn (or not) the translations actually are. It is only when I get to see this that the reality of translating becomes true; comparing the translations here to those in the Collected and New collection makes me think that these are perhaps closer to the original than Cavanagh's translation. But really, it's useless to have the conversation of verity in translation, because without the attempt, we wouldn't get this poetry at all, in any incarnation.
December 12, 2011
Although I am sad this collection doesn't include "VOCABULARY" ("La Pologne? LA Pologne? Isn't it terribly cold there?"), this bilingual edition is beautiful. What astonishes me is that the sensitivity of Szymborska's writing and tone come through with very little smoke-and-mirror work by the (clearly talented) translators; you can see in the bilingual reflection that the grammatical structure of English and Polish allows for Szymborska's anaphora to create as much music as any rhyme or attention to meter. She is also brilliant, in the humbly and wryly philosophical way a good poet can be. I am sick of American/English poems that (attempt to) "teach a lesson", and offer so much certainty and closure I could choke on it. I don't choke on any of Szymborska's closure...it doesn't seem closed, just whole. It has perspective. "I, tarsier/ know how important it is to be tarsier."
June 8, 2013
A wonderful collection of poetry. Here is a poem from the collection:
Parable
Some fishermen pulled a bottle from the deep. In it was a scrap of paper, on which were written the words: "someone, save me! Here I am. The ocean has cast me up on a desert island. I am standing on the shore waiting for help. Hurry. Here I am!"
"There is not date. Surely it is too late by now. The bottle could have been floating in the sea a long time," said the first fisherman.
"And the place is not indicated. We do not even know which ocean," said the second fisherman.
"It is neither too late nor too far. The island called Here is everywhere," said the third fisherman.
They all felt uneasy. A silence fell. So it is with universal truths.
Parable
Some fishermen pulled a bottle from the deep. In it was a scrap of paper, on which were written the words: "someone, save me! Here I am. The ocean has cast me up on a desert island. I am standing on the shore waiting for help. Hurry. Here I am!"
"There is not date. Surely it is too late by now. The bottle could have been floating in the sea a long time," said the first fisherman.
"And the place is not indicated. We do not even know which ocean," said the second fisherman.
"It is neither too late nor too far. The island called Here is everywhere," said the third fisherman.
They all felt uneasy. A silence fell. So it is with universal truths.
October 12, 2010
Szymborska is my favorite poet. Her style and Akhmatova's are comparable to some extent but I find Szymborska's poems to be less weighed down by her themes. I'm not too enamored by the translations in this collection but the power of the lines can't help but emanate from their playfulness and wit. Not that I understand Polish, but the versions in View With a Grain of Sand (translated by Stanisław Barańczak and Clare Cavanagh) sound better to me especially with the symmetric quality of the lines. However, this collection is important for two reasons. It is the first substantial harvest of Szymborska in English translation, and it has a very good thematic introduction.
February 18, 2015
Another marvelous collection from this Nobel Prize poet. The thoughtful Translators' Introduction provides a fine overview of Ms. Szymborska's style, techniques, verbal and thematic inventiveness, subjects, and sense of irony, together with revealing comments about translating. The poems have been selected from the five volumes of her work published from 1957-1976, with emphasis on the three published from 1967-1976. The original Polish versions and their English translations are on facing pages.
January 17, 2016
Polish poet Wislawa Szymborska won the 1996 Nobel Prize for literature. She is one of my favorite poets (along with T.S. Eliot and Emily Dickinson). The following lines from her poem, "The Museum" are some of my favorite: "The crown has outlasted the head. The hand has lost out to the glove. The right shoe has won out over the foot. As for me, I'm alive, please believe me. The race with my dress is still on. You can't imagine my rival's will to win! And how much it would like to outlast me!"
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