Friday, August 28, 2015

a few words in my ear . . .

Shining white mother and child on a late summer afternoon boat ride 
with my grandsons on the Indian River, July, 2009.
On some days, the light is right and you just get lucky!
An idea came to me for a photograph . . .


AN IDEA

An idea came to me
for a rhyme? A poem?
Well--fine--I say, stay awhile, we'll talk
Tell me a little more about yourself.
       So it whispered a few words in my ear.
Ah, so that's the story--I say--intriguing.
These matters have long weighed upon my heart.
But a poem about them? I don't think so.
        So it whispered a few words in my ear.
It may seem that way--I reply--
But you overestimate my gifts and powers.
I wouldn't even know where to start.
         So it whispered a few words in my ear.
You're wrong--I say--a short, pithy poem
is much harder than a long one.
Don't pester me, don't nag, it won't turn out.
         So it whispered a few words in my ear.
All right then, I'll try, since you insist.
But don't say I didn't warn you.
I write, tear it up, and toss it out.
         So it whispered a few words in my ear.
You're right, I say, there are always other poets.
Some of them can do it better.
I'll give you names and addresses.
          So it whispered a few words in my ear.
Of course I'll envy them.
We envy even the weak poems.
But this one should . . . it ought to have . . .
           So it whispered a few words in my ear.
Exactly, to have the qualities you've listed.
So let's change the subject.
How about a cup of coffee?

           It just sighed.

           And started vanishing.

           And vanished.

Wislawa Szymborska

Translated by Clare Cavanagh and Stanislaw Baranczak

HERE, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2010, page 11,13.

This delightful. light-touch-yet-serious poem about writing and inspiration by Nobelist Szymborska has an interesting structure. Almost every line is a complete sentence. And the line about whispering is repeated seven times, with three lines between each repetition after the first time. But I wish we had the poem that almost got written . . .


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