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Branka Babic

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RE: Wislawa Szymborska, Nobel-prize winning Polish poet, dies at 88
2/25/2013 10:48:10 PM
Golden Anniversary


They have been different once,

fire and water, miles apart,

robbing and giving in desire,

that assault on one another’s otherness.

Embracing, they appropriated and expropriated each other for so long,

that only air was left within their arms,

transparent as if after lightning.

One day the answer came before the question.

Another night they guessed their eyes’ expression

by the type of silence in the dark.

Gender fades, mysteries molder,

distinctions meet in all-resemblance

just as all colors coincide in white.

Which of them is doubled and which missing?

Which one is smiling with two smiles?

Whose voice forms a two-part canon?

When both heads nod, which one agrees?

Whose gesture lifts the teaspoon to their lips?

Who’s flayed the other one alive?

Which one lives and which has died

entangled in the lines of whose palm?

They gazed into each other’s eyes and slowly twins emerged.

Familiarity breeds the most perfect of mothers –

it favors neither of the little darlings,

it scarcely can recall which one is which.

On this festive day, their golden anniversary,

a dove, seen identically, perched on the windowsill.

Translated from Polish by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh

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Branka Babic

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RE: Wislawa Szymborska, Nobel-prize winning Polish poet, dies at 88
2/25/2013 11:02:58 PM

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Luis Miguel Goitizolo

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RE: Wislawa Szymborska, Nobel-prize winning Polish poet, dies at 88
2/26/2013 3:08:24 AM
Good evening dear Branka,

Thank you for this extraordinary thread. I have just read these poems by Wislawa Symborzka's:

The Terrorist, he is watching
Vietnam
The Railroad Station
The Tower of Babel

And a few more poems. They are wonderful poetry, such as I had never read before.

I hope to have the time to read all the rest.

Miguel

P.S. I also enjoyed Chopin's
Funeral March. An outstanding version.

"Choose a job you love and you will not have to work a day in your life" (Confucius)

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Branka Babic

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RE: Wislawa Szymborska, Nobel-prize winning Polish poet, dies at 88
2/26/2013 8:30:02 AM
Quote:
Good evening dear Branka,

Thank you for this extraordinary thread. I have just read these poems by Wislawa Symborzka's:

The Terrorist, he is watching
Vietnam
The Railroad Station
The Tower of Babel

And a few more poems. They are wonderful poetry, such as I had never read before.

I hope to have the time to read all the rest.

Miguel

P.S. I also enjoyed Chopin's
Funeral March. An outstanding version.


Miguel, now this is Twilight Zone!
I went to bed with only one desire: to sleep next 6 months :)), but was too happy and excited, so the dream felt like being PERSONA NON GRATA. Who knows how late I started sleeping, and in just a few hours, I have had a dream about receiving notification which I really have found in my inbox a few min ago, about your visit to this thread!

I was happy in my dream, like I am happy now :).

Thank you.

Hugs!
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Branka Babic

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RE: Wislawa Szymborska, Nobel-prize winning Polish poet, dies at 88
3/8/2013 3:00:33 PM

Birthday

So much world all at once – how it rustles and bustles!
Moraines and morays and morasses and mussels,
The flame, the flamingo, the flounder, the feather –
How to line them all up, how to put them together?
All the tickets and crickets and creepers and creeks!
The beeches and leeches alone could take weeks.
Chinchillas, gorillas, and sarsaparillas –
Thanks do much, but all this excess of kindness could kill us.
Where’s the jar for this burgeoning burdock, brooks’ babble,
Rooks’ squabble, snakes’ quiggle, abundance, and trouble?
How to plug up the gold mines and pin down the fox,
How to cope with the linx, bobolinks, strptococs!
Tale dioxide: a lightweight, but mighty in deeds:
What about octopodes, what about centipedes?
I could look into prices, but don’t have the nerve:
These are products I just can’t afford, don’t deserve.
Isn’t sunset a little too much for two eyes
That, who knows, may not open to see the sun rise?
I am just passing through, it’s a five-minute stop.
I won’t catch what is distant: what’s too close, I’ll mix up.
While trying to plumb what the void's inner sense is,
I'm bound to pass by all these poppies and pansies.
What a loss when you think how much effort was spent
perfecting this petal, this pistil, this scent
for the one-time appearance, which is all they're allowed,
so aloofly precise and so fragilely proud.

translated from Polish by Stanislaw Baranczak
and Clare Cavanagh



Urodziny

Tyle naraz świata ze wszystkich stron swiata:
moreny, mureny i morza, i zorze,
i ogień, i ogon, i orzeł, i orzech -
jak ja to ustawię, gdzie ja to położę?
Te chaszcze i paszcze, i leszcze, i deszcze,
bodziszki, modliszki - gdzie ja to pomieszczę?
Motyle, goryle, beryle i trele -
dziękuję, to chyba o wiele za wiele,
Do dzbanka jakiego tam łopian i łopot,
i łubin, i popłoch, i przepych, i kłopot?
Gdzie zabrać kolibra, gdzie ukryć to srebro,
co zrobić na serio z tym żubrem i zebrą?
Już taki dwutlenek rzecz ważna i droga,
a tu ośmiornica i jeszcze stonoga!
Domyślam się ceny, choć cena z gwiazd zdarta -
dziekuję, doprawdy nie czuję się warta.
Nie szkoda to dla mnie zachodu i słońca?
Jak ma się w to bawić osoba żyjąca?
Na chwilę tu jestem i tylko na chwilę:
co dalsze, przeoczę, a resztę pomylę.
Nie zdążę wszystkiego odróżnić od próżni.
Pogubię te bratki w pośpiechu podróżnym.
Jużc hoćby najmniejszy - szalony wydatek:
fatyga łodygi i listek, i płatek
raz jeden w przestrzeni, od nigdy, na oślep,
wzgardliwie dokładny i kruchy wyniośle.

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