Map by Wisława Szymborska Read Free Book Online Page B

witnessed.
His childhood memories are slight.
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Emperor or not. How does it alter
the mystery of what the turtle sees?
The void has briefly yielded up a stranger
who flickers back to life! From heels to knees.

Experiment
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As a short subject before the main feature—
in which the actors did their best
to make me cry and even laugh—
we were shown an interesting experiment
involving a head.
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The head
a minute earlier was still attached to . . .
but now it was cut off.
Everyone could see that it didn’t have a body.
The tubes dangling from the neck hooked it up to a machine
that kept its blood circulating.
The head
was doing just fine.
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Without showing pain or even surprise,
it followed a moving flashlight with its eyes.
It pricked up its ears at the sound of a bell.
Its moist nose could tell
the smell of bacon from odorless oblivion,
and licking its chops with evident relish
it salivated its salute to physiology.
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A dog’s faithful head,
a dog’s friendly head
squinted its eyes when stroked,
convinced that it was still part of a whole
that crooks its back if patted
and wags its tail.
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I thought about happiness and was frightened.
For if that’s all life is about,
the head
was happy.

Smiles
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.

Military Parade
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Ground-to-ground,
ground-to-air-to-ground,
air-to-water-to-ground-to-ground-to-water,
water-to-air-to-ground-to-air-to-air,
ground-to-water-to-air-to-water-to-air-to-ground,
air-to-ground-to-ground-to-ground-to-ground,
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Some Ground Air Water-

The Terrorist, He’s Watching
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The bomb in the bar will explode at thirteen twenty.
Now it’s just thirteen sixteen.
There’s still time for some to go in
and some to come out.
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The terrorist has already crossed the street.
The distance keeps him out of danger,
and what a view—just like the movies:
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A woman in a yellow jacket, she’s going in.
A man in dark glasses, he’s coming out.
Teenagers in jeans, they’re talking.
Thirteen seventeen and four seconds.
The short one, he’s lucky, he’s getting on a scooter,
but the tall one, he’s going in.
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Thirteen seventeen and forty seconds.
That girl, she’s walking along with a green ribbon in her hair.
But then a bus suddenly pulls in front of her.
Thirteen eighteen.
The girl’s gone.
Was she that dumb, did she go in or not,
we’ll see when they carry them out.
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Thirteen nineteen.
Somehow no one’s going in.
Another guy, fat, bald, is leaving, though.
Wait a second, looks like he’s looking for something in his pockets and
at thirteen twenty minus ten seconds
he goes back in for his crummy gloves.
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Thirteen twenty exactly.
This waiting, it’s taking