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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.
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