Wislawa Szymborska

Stormy · 11-29-2006, 12:57 PM

Finals drive me back to the arts, because they are an indulgence which is more productive than... other things. I don't have many books of poetry in my room currently, and so I resort to rereading The Miracle Fair, and finding more to appreciate in Szymborska's poetry. I don't mean to treat this forum as some suburban teen's livejournal, though I don't necessarily intend to spark great literary discussions, either. I'm only hoping that someone else might appreciate a line, or a stanza, or a poem, and that they might have something we also may appreciate.

Drinking Wine
He looked at me, bestowing beauty,
and I took it for my own.
Happy, I swallowed a star.

I let him invent me
in the image of the reflection
in his eyes. I dance, I dance
in an abundance of sudden wings.

A table is a table, wine is wine
in a wineglass, which is a wineglass
and it stands standing on a table
but I am a phantasm,
a phantasm beyond belief,
a phantasm to the core.

I tell him what he wants to hear -- about ants
dying of love
under a dandelion's constellation.
I swear that sprinkled with wine
a white rose will sing.

I laugh, and tilt my head
carefully, as if I were testing
an invention. I dance, I dance
in astounded skin, in the embrace
that creates me.

Eve from a rib, Venus from sea foam,
Minerva from the head of Jove
were much more real.

When he's not looking at me,
I search for my reflection
on the wall. All i see
is a nail on which a painting hung.

11-29-2006, 12:57 PM	#1
Stormy i'm horny for hex Join Date: Oct 2004 Posts: 679	Finals drive me back to the arts, because they are an indulgence which is more productive than... other things. I don't have many books of poetry in my room currently, and so I resort to rereading The Miracle Fair, and finding more to appreciate in Szymborska's poetry. I don't mean to treat this forum as some suburban teen's livejournal, though I don't necessarily intend to spark great literary discussions, either. I'm only hoping that someone else might appreciate a line, or a stanza, or a poem, and that they might have something we also may appreciate. Drinking Wine He looked at me, bestowing beauty, and I took it for my own. Happy, I swallowed a star. I let him invent me in the image of the reflection in his eyes. I dance, I dance in an abundance of sudden wings. A table is a table, wine is wine in a wineglass, which is a wineglass and it stands standing on a table but I am a phantasm, a phantasm beyond belief, a phantasm to the core. I tell him what he wants to hear -- about ants dying of love under a dandelion's constellation. I swear that sprinkled with wine a white rose will sing. I laugh, and tilt my head carefully, as if I were testing an invention. I dance, I dance in astounded skin, in the embrace that creates me. Eve from a rib, Venus from sea foam, Minerva from the head of Jove were much more real. When he's not looking at me, I search for my reflection on the wall. All i see is a nail on which a painting hung.