Some of you may have heard of her name or her poems. I am talking about Wisława Szymborska, a celebrated Polish poet and a noble prize Laurette in literature. It was about 7 years ago that I started to search every bookstore that I knew to find a copy of her best poems translated into Farsi (the book was sold out at that time but it was reprinted some years later). After searching maybe 20 bookstores, I found one and I read it several times. Thanks to the Internet and English language, now I don’t have to search for anything that much!
Photo from: http://www.esperanto.pl
LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT
They’re both convinced
that a sudden passion joined them.
Such certainty is more beautiful,
but uncertainty is more beautiful still.
Since they’d never met before, they’re sure
that there’d been nothing between them.
But what’s the word from the streets, staircases, hallways–
perhaps they’ve passed by each other a million times?
I want to ask them
if they don’t remember–
a moment face to face
in some revolving door?
perhaps a “sorry” muttered in a crowd?
a curt “wrong number”caught in the receiver?–
but I know the answer.
No, they don’t remember.
They’d be amazed to hear
that Chance has been toying with them
now for years.
Not quite ready yet
to become their Destiny,
it pushed them close, drove them apart,
it barred their path,
stifling a laugh,
and then leaped aside.
There were signs and signals,
even if they couldn’t read them yet.
Perhaps three years ago
or just last Tuesday
a certain leaf fluttered
from one shoulder to another?
Something was dropped and then picked up.
Who knows, maybe the ball that vanished
into childhood’s thicket?
There were doorknobs and doorbells
where one touch had covered another
beforehand.
Suitcases checked and standing side by side.
One night. perhaps, the same dream,
grown hazy by morning.
Every beginning
is only a sequel, after all,
and the book of events
is always open halfway through.
اه از این لهستان چقدر از این بزرگان دارد.دوست دارم در ورشو نفس بکشم.
هر چيز که يک بار براي ما زنده بوده باشد هرگز از دست نمي رود. بر روي اين زمين براي هيچ چيز پاياني متصور نيست، پس براي چه بکوشيم آغاز را درک کنيم
با اين که من معمولاً شاعراي همزبان خودمون را راحت تر مي فهمم ولي اين واقعاً خيلي ساده و قشنگ بود