Wislawa Syzmborska: The Astonishment of Daily Life

May delivery be easy,
may our child grow and be well.
Let him be happy from time to time
and leap over abysses.

Let his heart have strength to endure
and his mind be awake and reach far.
But not so far
that it sees into the future.

Spare him
that one gift,
O heavenly powers
 Wislawa Syzmborska

I have had enough of elections. Today is for reading Syzmborska and appreciating what she calls the "astonishment of everyday life".

Some People
by Wislawa Syzmborska

Some people flee some other people.
In some country under a sun
and some clouds.

They abandon something like all they’ve got,
sown fields, some chickens, dogs,
mirrors in which fire now preens.

Their shoulders bear pitchers and bundles.
The emptier they get, the heavier they grow.

What happens quietly: someone’s dropping from exhaustion.
What happens loudly: someone’s bread is ripped away,
someone tries to shake a limp child back to life.

Always another wrong road ahead of them,
always another wrong bridge
across another oddly reddish river.
Around them, some gunshots, now nearer, now farther away,
above them a plane sort of circles.

Some invisibility would come in handy,
some grayish stoniness,
or, better yet, some nonexistence
for a shorter or a longer while.

Something else will happen, only where and what.
Someone will come at them, only when and who,
in how many shapes, with what intentions.
If he has a choice,
maybe he won’t be the enemy
and will let them live some sort of life.

(Translated by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanag)

Some people fleeing some other people. In some country under the sun and some clouds. They leave behind some of their everything, sown fields, some chickens, dogs, mirrors in which fire now sees itself reflected. On their backs are pitchers and bundles, the emptier, the heavier from one day to the next. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20449?utm_source=Anything+Can+Happen+by+Seamus+Heaney&utm_campaign=poemaday_090513&utm_medium=email#sthash.xugsvU29.dpuf

Some people fleeing some other people. In some country under the sun and some clouds. They leave behind some of their everything, sown fields, some chickens, dogs, mirrors in which fire now sees itself reflected. On their backs are pitchers and bundles, the emptier, the heavier from one day to the next. Taking place stealthily is somebody's stopping, and in the commotion, somebody's bread somebody's snatching and a dead child somebody's shaking. In front of them some still not the right way, nor the bridge that should be over a river strangely rosy. Around them, some gunfire, at times closer, at times farther off, and, above, a plane circling somewhat. Some invisibility would come in handy, some grayish stoniness, or even better, non-being for a little or a long while. Something else is yet to happen, only where and what? Someone will head toward them, only when and who, in how many shapes and with what intentions? Given a choice, maybe he will choose not to be the enemy and leave them with some kind of life. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20449?utm_source=Anything+Can+Happen+by+Seamus+Heaney&utm_campaign=poemaday_090513&utm_medium=email#sthash.xugsvU29.dpuf