Snowy Morning with Szymborska

The Comforter Mountains

I woke up, to stay inside.  The strength of the white light from behind my curtain pushed me right back into bed as soon as I peeled it back.  What the snow said to me - clear as day - from behind the window pane was, "Don't move.  Put on the hot water and stay where you are."  

So I have, and I did.  I wouldn't want to mess with the snow's instructions.  Coffee has been made, crackling candle has been lit, and poetry from my bookshelf has been accessed.  

I often wish that reading poetry and literature were a part of my graduate program, as contemplations and stories about life help me to think about people in reality.  Instead, we learn about people through a psychological lens or a systems lens - 

What is your race, culture or class and how does that affect you?

Are you a leader that could be described as "patient" or "competitive"?  Then, choose the five cards that you think best apply.   

As helpful as it is to think of yourself in these terms, these lenses could also be balanced with an even larger, more poetic description - 

We live, we die, and are equal in this sense - how should that influence how we work and live with others?  And how can we think about larger than life questions?

Wistawa Symborska is a poet who caught my eye years ago in a Nobel Literature class.  She passed away, not too long ago, and her poems touch on the dark and light aspects of life in thoughtful and at times humorous ways.  Here is one or two from Poems New and Collected...

Smiles

The world would rather see hope than just hear

its song. And that's why statesmen have to smile.

Their pearly whites mean they're still full of cheer.

The game's complex, the goal's far out of reach,

the outcome's still unclear - once in a while,

we need a friendly, gleaming set of teeth.

Heads of state must display unfurrowed brows

on airport runways, in the conference room.

They must embody one big, toothy "Wow!"

while pressing flesh or pressing urgent issues.

Their faces' self-regenerating tissues

make our hearts hum and our lenses zoom.

Dentistry turned to diplomatic skill

promises us a Golden Age tomorrow.

The going's rough, and so we need the laugh

of bright incisors, molars of goodwill.

Our times are still not safe and sane enough

for faces to show ordinary sorrow.

Dreamers keep saying, "Human brotherhood

will make this place a smiling paradise."

I'm not convinced. The statesman, in that case,

would not require facial exercise,

except from time to time: he's feeling good,

he's glad it's spring, and so he moves his face.

But human beings are, by nature, sad.

So be it, then. It isn't all that bad.

***

Over Wine

He glanced, gave me extra charm

and I took it as my own.

Happily I gulped a star.

I let myself be invented,

modeled on my own reflection

in his eyes. I dance, dance, dance

in the stir of sudden wings.

The chair's a chair, the wine is wine,

in a wineglass that's the wineglass

standing there by standing there.

Only I'm imaginary,

make-believe beyond belief,

so fictitious that it hurts.

And I tell him tales about

ants that die of love beneath

a dadelion's constellation.

I swear a white rose will sing

if you sprinkle it with wine.

I laugh and I tilt my head

cautiously, as if to check

whether the invention works.

I dance, dance inside my stunned

skin, in his arms that create me.

Eve from the rib, Venus from foam,

Minerva from Jupiter's head -

all three were more real than me.

When he isn't looking at me, 

I try to catch my reflection

on the wall. And see the nail

where a picture used to be.

***

Here's to blankets of snow, words, and fleece.  

Happy snow day.