Last week Wisława Szymborska died in Kraków at the age of eighty-eight. Szymborska received the Nobel Prize in 1996 and was Poland’s best-loved living poet. Her poem “Negative” appeared in issue 144 of The Paris Review, translated by Joanna Trzeciak:
In the dun-colored sky A cloud even more dun-colored With the black outline of the sun. To the left, that is, to the right A white cherry branch with black flowers. On your dark face, light shadows. You have sat down at a small table And laid your grayed hands on it. You give the impression of a ghost Who attempts to summon the living. (Because I’m still counted among them, I should appear and knock: Good night, that is, good morning, Farewell, that is, hello. Not being stingy with questions to any answer If they concern life, That is, the storm before the calm.)
In the dun-colored sky A cloud even more dun-colored With the black outline of the sun.
To the left, that is, to the right A white cherry branch with black flowers.
On your dark face, light shadows. You have sat down at a small table And laid your grayed hands on it.
You give the impression of a ghost Who attempts to summon the living.
(Because I’m still counted among them, I should appear and knock: Good night, that is, good morning, Farewell, that is, hello. Not being stingy with questions to any answer If they concern life, That is, the storm before the calm.)
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