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  • pingus_pancakes pingus_pancakes Feb 10, 2012 3:40 AM Flag

    'Mozart of poetry', dies aged 88


    rip, Wislawa Szymborska

    There is much I owe

    to those I do not love.

    The relief in accepting

    they are closer to another.

    Joy that I am not

    the wolf to their sheep.

    My peace be with them

    for with them I am free,

    and this, love can neither give,

    nor know how to take.

    I don't wait for them

    from window to door.

    Almost as patient

    as a sun dial,

    I understand

    what love does not understand.

    I forgive

    what love would never have forgiven.

    Between rendezvous and letter

    no eternity passes,

    only a few days or weeks.

    My trips with them always turn out well.

    Concerts are heard.

    Cathedrals are toured.

    Landscapes are distinct.

    And when seven rivers and mountains

    come between us,

    they are rivers and mountains

    well known from any map.

    It is thanks to them

    that I live in three dimensions,

    in a non-lyrical and non-rhetorical space,

    with a shifting, thus real, horizon.

    They don't even know

    how much they carry in their empty hands.

    "I don't owe them anything",

    love would have said

    on this open topic.

    This topic is deleted.
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