| Ο πληθυντικός αριθμός | Θερμοπύλες |
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IT MUST BE A CHOICE.
It must be a choice. To change, provided however that nothing will change. It is easy, impossible, difficult, it is worth trying. If necessary, her eyes are blue one time and grey the next, black, happy, without reason full of tears. She sleeps with him like a tramp,like the only woman in the world. She gives him four children, none, one. Naive, but she gets by quite well. Frail, but she lifts weights. She does not have her head on her shoulders but she will have it one day. She reads Jaspers and women's magazines. She does not know what this screw is for but she builds bridges. Young, young as ever, always still young. She holds a sparrow with abroken wing in her hand, her own money for a long trip far away, a big knife, pills and a shot of vodka. Where is she running in that way, isn't she tired? Of course not, only a little, a lot, it doesn't matter. She is either in love with him or is being stubborn about it. For better or worse and with God's compassion. Wislawa Szymborska |
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GROWING IN SPIRIT He who hopes to grow in spirit will have to transcend obedience and respect. He'll hold to some laws but he'll mostly violate both law and custom, and go beyond the established, inadequate norm. Sensual pleasures will have much to teach him. He won't be afraid of the destructive act: half the house will have to come down. This way he'll grow virtuously into wisdom. Constantine Cavafy | Ithaka |
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HERBSTTAG Herr: es ist Zeit. Der Sommer war sehr gross. Leg deinen Schatten auf die Sonnenuhren, und auf den Fluren lass die Winde los. Befiehl den letzten Früchten voll zu sein; gieb ihnen noch zwei südlichere Tage, dränge sie zur Vollendung hin und jage die letzte Süsse in den schweren Wein. Wer jetzt kein Haus hat, baut sich keines mehr. Wer jetzt allein ist, wird es lange bleiben, wird wachen, lesen, lange Briefe schreiben und wird in den Alleen hin und her unruhig wandern, wenn die Blätter treiben. Rainer Maria Rilke |
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PASSING A TRUCK FULL OF CHICKENS AT NIGHT ON HIGHWAY EIGHTY What struck me first was their panic. Some were pulled by the wind from moving to the ends of stacked cages, some had their heads blown through the bars -- and could not get them in again. Some hung there like that - dead - their own feathers blowing, clot- ting in their faces. Then I saw the one that made me slow some - I lingered there beside her for five miles. She had pushed her head through the space between bars - to get a better view. She had the look of a dog in the back of a pickup, that eager look of a dog who knows she's being taken along. She craned her neck. She looked around, watched me, then strained to see over the car - strained to see what happened beyond. That is the chicken I want to be. Jane Mead (from "The Lord and the General Din of the World", Sarabande Books, Louisville,KY) | |
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GOING HOME He came home. Said nothing. It was clear, though, that something had gone wrong. He lay down fully dressed. Pulled the blanket over his head. Tucked up his knees. He's nearly forty, but not at the moment. He exists just as he did inside his mother's womb, clad in seven walls of skin, in sheltered darkness. Tomorrow he'll give a lecture on homeostasis in metagalactic cosmonautics. For now, though, he has curled up and gone to sleep. Wislawa Szymborska |
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AS MUCH AS YOU CAN
Even if you cannot shape your life as you want it, | |
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AN UNEXPECTED MEETING We treat each other with exceeding courtesy; we say, it's great to see you after all these years. Our tigers drink milk. Our hawks tread the ground. Our sharks have all drowned. Our wolves yawn beyond the open cage. Our snakes have shed their lightning, our apes their flights of fancy, our peacocks have renounced their plumes. The bats flew out of our hair long ago. We fall silent in mid-sentence, all smiles, past help. Our humans don't know how to talk to one another. Wislawa Szymborska |
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