Archive for May, 2012

May 30, 2012

Anand – world champion

May 18, 2012

A Contribution to Statistics

Out of a hundred people

those who always know better

— fifty-two

doubting every step

— nearly all the rest,

glad to lend a hand

if it doesn’t take too long

— as high as forty-nine,

always good

because they can’t be otherwise

— four, well maybe five,

able to admire without envy

— eighteen,

suffering illusions

induced by fleeting youth

— sixty, give or take a few,

not to be taken lightly

— forty and four,

living in constant fear

of someone or something

— seventy-seven,

capable of happiness

— twenty-something tops,

harmless singly, savage in crowds

— half at least,


when forced by circumstances

— better not to know

even ballpark figures,

wise after the fact

— just a couple more

than wise before it,

taking only things from life

— thirty

(I wish I were wrong),

hunched in pain,

no flashlight in the dark

— eighty-three

sooner or later,


— thirty-five, which is a lot,


and understanding

— three,

worthy of compassion

— ninety-nine,


— a hundred out of a hundred.

Thus far this figure still remains unchanged.

~ Wislawa Szymborska ~

May 11, 2012

The Joy of Writing

Why does this written doe bound through these written woods?
For a drink of written water from a spring
whose surface will xerox her soft muzzle?
Why does she lift her head; does she hear something?
Perched on four slim legs borrowed from the truth,
she pricks up her ears beneath my fingertips.
Silence – this word also rustles across the page
and parts the boughs
that have sprouted from the word “woods.”

Lying in wait, set to pounce on the blank page,
are letters up to no good,
clutches of clauses so subordinate
they’ll never let her get away.

Each drop of ink contains a fair supply
of hunters, equipped with squinting eyes behind their sights,
prepared to swarm the sloping pen at any moment,
surround the doe, and slowly aim their guns.

They forget that what’s here isn’t life.
Other laws, black on white, obtain.
The twinkling of an eye will take as long as I say,
and will, if I wish, divide into tiny eternities,
full of bullets stopped in mid-flight.
Not a thing will ever happen unless I say so.
Without my blessing, not a leaf will fall,
not a blade of grass will bend beneath that little hoof’s full stop.

Is there then a world
where I rule absolutely on fate?
A time I bind with chains of signs?
An existence become endless at my bidding?

The joy of writing.
The power of preserving.
Revenge of a mortal hand.

Wislawa Szymborska

Wonder, silence, gratitude

one who is going upstream ......

SS24 - in search of the bull !

one who is going upstream ......

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