Monday, July 2, 2012

more wislawa symborska

yay nice poetry but i should REALLY DO WORK ARGH.

MAY 16, 1973

One of those many dates
that no longer ring a bell.
Where I was going that day,
what I was doing --- I don't know.

Whom I met, what we talked about,
I can't recall.
If a crime had been committed nearby,
I wouldn't have had an alibi.

The sun flared and died
beyond my horizons.
The earth rotated
unnoted in my notebooks.

Mirrors caught my reflection.
I wore something or other in such-and-such a color.
Somebody must have seen me.

Maybe I found something that day
that had been lost.
Maybe I lost something that turned up late.

I was filled with feelings and sensations.
Now all that's like
a line of dots in parentheses.

I shake my memory.
Maybe something in its branches
that has been asleep for years
will start up with a flutter.

Clearly I'm asking too much.
Nothing less than one whole second.

One Version of Events

If we’d been allowed to choose,
we’d probably have gone on forever.

Meanwhile, a fair number
of stars lit earlier
had died out and grown cold.

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