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  Culture Desk Wislawa Szymborska: The Happiness of Wisdom Felt | The New Yorker Wislawa Szymborska: The Happiness of Wisdom Felt By Adam Gopnik February 2, 2012 Save this story Wislawa Szymborska died on February 1st. Read Adam Gopnik , and see Szymborska in our archive at Double Take . Photograph by Alberto Cristofari/A3/Contrasto/Redux. It was only the other morning that my wife, happening to leaf again through “Here,” the most recent gathering of Wislawa Szymborska’s poems, remarked, looking at the cover photograph of the eighty-something-year-old Polish poet, the writer’s eyes shut in private bliss, cigarette in hand, “You know, I’m worried about Szymborska. I wish she would stop smoking.” This remark—made, of course, by someone who had never come anywhere near the poet’s fleshly, personal presence—was a sign of the effect that Szymborska had on her readers. They thought of her as a friend and neighbor and counsellor—as someone to worry about, and worry with, more than someo...

  Thơ Mỗi Ngày Shadow Publishing Company   This couple strolling arm in arm Must be figments of someone's revery. They stop often to linger over a kiss, But when people look their way, It's as if they do not see them. It's the heat, the blue dusk, The air of enchantment On the street of overgrown lilacs And screened porches Where a door is already open for them.   An old woman waits in the dim entrance With a pitcher of cold lemonade And two tall glasses on a tray. She wants them to rest awhile In her own wedding bed and they obey.   Her late husband was an eye doctor. His surgical instruments lie in glass cage Gleaming like cold moonlight In dark cuffs, he made the blind see By removing their bandages.   In a room shaded against the heat, With a few slender lines of light On the high ceiling, And that strange sense of taking on the life Of someone unknown just then,   Lying there, closing one's eyes in revery, A figment among figments Living one of their b...