Wednesday, 8 February 2012

the contemplation of simple things [part I]

For this entry I decided to  choose a poem by the Polish poet, essayist, translator and 1996 Nobel Prize in Literature, Wislawa Szymborska who passed away early this year.  Wislawa was a poet of domesticity and  metaphisical questionning and when I read some of her work I felt inspired to accompany these expressions of my own everyday life by her light spirited, yet profound poem 'Possibilites'. 

To me, the the possibility for beauty prevails even in the most menial tasks. I recalled times of my life when performing some chores, the objects before me appeared lively and magical. They have in a way, their own voice.

The coffee maker funnel had disappeared. After some time it reappeared in the kitchen.t's rusty and cold body got dressed in coloured rubber bands.

I prefer the cinema.
I prefer cats.
I prefer oak-trees by the Warta.
I prefer Dickens to Dostoyevsky.
I prefer myself liking humans
to myself loving humanity.
I prefer having a thread with a needle close at hand.
I prefer green.
I prefer not claiming that
the intellect should be blamed for everything.
I pefer exceptions.
I prefer leaving before.
I prefer talking to doctors about something else.
I prefer old marked illustrations.
I prefer being laughable because of writing poems
to being laughable because of not writing them.
I prefer odd anniversaries in love life,
to be celebrated every day.
I prefer moralists
who do not promise me anything.
I prefer calculated goodness to goodness that is too gullible.
I prefer the earth in civvy street.
I prefer conquered countries to the conquering ones.
I prefer having my objections.
I prefer the hell of chaos to the hell of order.
I prefer Grimm tales to the first pages of newspapers.
I prefer leaves without flowers to flowers without leaves.
I prefer dogs with their tails unclipped.
I prefer fair eyes since mine are dark.
I prefer drawers.
I prefer many things I have not listed above
to many others unlisted here.
I prefer noughts that are loose
to those queueing for a digit.
I prefer insect time to stellar time.
I prefer touching wood.
I prefer not asking how much longer and when.
I prefer considering even such a possibility
that existence has its reasons.
Some objects are charming, no matter how utilitarian they are meant to be.