Love at First Sight
by Wisława Szymborska; introduced by James Crews
F amous in her native Poland long before receiving the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1996, Wisława Szymborska writes with such clarity that her verse at times takes on the tones of detached journalism, with a plainness of language that can be unsettling. In her collections – from Dlatego Żyjemy (“That’s Why We Are Alive”) in 1952, to her most recent Tutaj (“Here”) in 2009 – we find again and again the deceptively delicate music with which Szymborska lulls us, even as she undercuts widely held assumptions about the nature of historical events.
Though “Love at First Sight” is not set in a specific time or place, one can imagine the poet observing two lovers engaged in a display of public affection. But she implicates herself only once, when she says “I want to ask them / if they don’t remember – / a moment face to face / in some revolving door?”. Szymborska seems convinced that some guiding force – what begins as “Chance”, then becomes “Destiny” – “pushed them close, drove them apart”. In a poem about the beginnings of a love affair, we anticipate a certain depth of feeling, sensuousness and rapture, but Szymborska denies us these conventions, arguing against “love at first sight” and debunking the myth of serendipitous encounters: our lives were scripted long ago in a “book of events”, which we cannot alter, try as we might.
Love at First Sight
They’re both convinced
that a sudden passion joined them.
Such certainty is 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 each other by 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 thickets?
There were doorknobs and doorbells
where one touch had covered another
beforehand.
Suitcases checked and standing side by side.
One night perhaps some dream
grown hazy by morning.
Every beginning
is only a sequel, after all,
and the book of events
is always open halfway through.
WISLAWA SZYMBORSKA (1993)
Translated by Stanisław Barańczak and Clare Cavanagh
Though “Love at First Sight” is not set in a specific time or place, one can imagine the poet observing two lovers engaged in a display of public affection. But she implicates herself only once, when she says “I want to ask them / if they don’t remember – / a moment face to face / in some revolving door?”. Szymborska seems convinced that some guiding force – what begins as “Chance”, then becomes “Destiny” – “pushed them close, drove them apart”. In a poem about the beginnings of a love affair, we anticipate a certain depth of feeling, sensuousness and rapture, but Szymborska denies us these conventions, arguing against “love at first sight” and debunking the myth of serendipitous encounters: our lives were scripted long ago in a “book of events”, which we cannot alter, try as we might.
Love at First Sight
They’re both convinced
that a sudden passion joined them.
Such certainty is 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 each other by 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 thickets?
There were doorknobs and doorbells
where one touch had covered another
beforehand.
Suitcases checked and standing side by side.
One night perhaps some dream
grown hazy by morning.
Every beginning
is only a sequel, after all,
and the book of events
is always open halfway through.
WISLAWA SZYMBORSKA (1993)
Translated by Stanisław Barańczak and Clare Cavanagh