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From a writer whom Charles Simic calls "one of the finest poets living" comes a collection of witty, compassionate, contemplative, and always surprising poems. Szymborska writes with verve about everything from love unremembered to keys mislaid in the grass. The poems will appear, for the first time, side by side with the Polish originals, in a book to delight new and old From a writer whom Charles Simic calls "one of the finest poets living" comes a collection of witty, compassionate, contemplative, and always surprising poems. Szymborska writes with verve about everything from love unremembered to keys mislaid in the grass. The poems will appear, for the first time, side by side with the Polish originals, in a book to delight new and old readers alike. EVERYTHING Everything- a bumptious, stuck-up word. It should be written in quotes. It pretends to miss nothing, to gather, hold, contain, and have. While all the while it's just a shred of a gale.


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From a writer whom Charles Simic calls "one of the finest poets living" comes a collection of witty, compassionate, contemplative, and always surprising poems. Szymborska writes with verve about everything from love unremembered to keys mislaid in the grass. The poems will appear, for the first time, side by side with the Polish originals, in a book to delight new and old From a writer whom Charles Simic calls "one of the finest poets living" comes a collection of witty, compassionate, contemplative, and always surprising poems. Szymborska writes with verve about everything from love unremembered to keys mislaid in the grass. The poems will appear, for the first time, side by side with the Polish originals, in a book to delight new and old readers alike. EVERYTHING Everything- a bumptious, stuck-up word. It should be written in quotes. It pretends to miss nothing, to gather, hold, contain, and have. While all the while it's just a shred of a gale.

30 review for Monologue of a Dog

  1. 4 out of 5

    Jon Nakapalau

    Taunt yet expansive in empathy - I have long wanted to read Wisława Szymborska's poems and was happy to come across this wonderful introduction to her work. She is now on my 'read more radar.' Taunt yet expansive in empathy - I have long wanted to read Wisława Szymborska's poems and was happy to come across this wonderful introduction to her work. She is now on my 'read more radar.'

  2. 5 out of 5

    Sidharth Vardhan

    There are lots of beautiful ones. I will share only one. The courtesy of the Blind The poet reads his lines to the blind. He hadn’t guessed that it would be so hard. His voice trembles. His hands shake. He senses that every sentence is put to the test of darkness. He must muddle through alone, without colors or lights. A treacherous endeavor for his poems’ stars, dawns, rainbows, clouds, their neon lights, their moon, for the fish so silvery thus far beneath the water and the hawk so high and quiet in the sky There are lots of beautiful ones. I will share only one. The courtesy of the Blind The poet reads his lines to the blind. He hadn’t guessed that it would be so hard. His voice trembles. His hands shake. He senses that every sentence is put to the test of darkness. He must muddle through alone, without colors or lights. A treacherous endeavor for his poems’ stars, dawns, rainbows, clouds, their neon lights, their moon, for the fish so silvery thus far beneath the water and the hawk so high and quiet in the sky. He reads—since it’s too late to stop now— about the boy in a yellow jacket on a green field, red roofs that can be counted in the valley, the restless numbers on soccer players’ shirts, and the naked stranger standing in a half-shut door. He’d like to skip—although it can’t be done— all the saints on that cathedral ceiling, the parting wave from a train, the microscope lens, the ring casting a glow, the movie screens, the mirrors, the photo albums. But great is the courtesy of the blind, great is their forbearance, their largesse. They listen, smile, and applaud. One of them even comes up with a book turned wrongside out asking for an unseen autograph.

  3. 4 out of 5

    Imen Benyoub

    delicious beautiful Szymborska.. Negative against a grayish sky a grayer cloud rimmed black by the sun. on the left, that is, the right a white cherry branch with black blossoms. light shadows on your dark face. you'de just taken a seat at the table and put your hands, gone gray, upon it. you look like a ghost who's trying to summn up the living. (and since I still number among them, I should appear to him and tap: good night, that is good morning, farewell, that is hello. and not grudge questons to any of his a delicious beautiful Szymborska.. Negative against a grayish sky a grayer cloud rimmed black by the sun. on the left, that is, the right a white cherry branch with black blossoms. light shadows on your dark face. you'de just taken a seat at the table and put your hands, gone gray, upon it. you look like a ghost who's trying to summn up the living. (and since I still number among them, I should appear to him and tap: good night, that is good morning, farewell, that is hello. and not grudge questons to any of his answers concerning life, that storm before the calm)

  4. 5 out of 5

    rahul

    Prose can hold anything including poetry but in poetry there's only room for poetry -from Stage Fright A Contribution to Statistics Out of a hundred people those who always know better -- fifty-two doubting every step -- nearly all the rest, glad to lend a hand if it doesn't take too long -- as high as forty-nine, always good because they can't be otherwise -- four, well maybe five, able to admire without envy -- eighteen, suffering illusions induced by fleeting youth -- sixty, give or take a few, not to be taken Prose can hold anything including poetry but in poetry there's only room for poetry -from Stage Fright A Contribution to Statistics Out of a hundred people those who always know better -- fifty-two doubting every step -- nearly all the rest, glad to lend a hand if it doesn't take too long -- as high as forty-nine, always good because they can't be otherwise -- four, well maybe five, able to admire without envy -- eighteen, suffering illusions induced by fleeting youth -- sixty, give or take a few, not to be taken lightly -- forty and four, living in constant fear of someone or something -- seventy-seven, capable of happiness -- twenty-something tops, harmless singly, savage in crowds -- half at least, cruel when forced by circumstances -- better not to know even ballpark figures, wise after the fact -- just a couple more than wise before it, taking only things from life -- thirty (I wish I were wrong), hunched in pain, no flashlight in the dark -- eighty-three sooner or later, righteous -- thirty-five, which is a lot, righteous and understanding -- three, worthy of compassion -- ninety-nine, mortal -- a hundred out of a hundred. Thus far this figure still remains unchanged.

  5. 5 out of 5

    Peycho Kanev

    She is one of the greatest. All I can say is already said here. Do read! http://www.nybooks.com/blogs/50-years... She is one of the greatest. All I can say is already said here. Do read! http://www.nybooks.com/blogs/50-years...

  6. 5 out of 5

    Douglas

    I think I just have a thing for Polish poets. To me, they just seem incomparable. If only I understood Polish. I know translations, even the best of them, have a level of dilution. Milosz, Zagajewski, Szymborska, they're poems are like seeing The Grand Canyon for the first time, you know it's there, you eyes don't lie, but yet, you can't believe it. "The Courtesy of the Blind", my favorite poem in this collection, is biblical in insight and humanity. I think I just have a thing for Polish poets. To me, they just seem incomparable. If only I understood Polish. I know translations, even the best of them, have a level of dilution. Milosz, Zagajewski, Szymborska, they're poems are like seeing The Grand Canyon for the first time, you know it's there, you eyes don't lie, but yet, you can't believe it. "The Courtesy of the Blind", my favorite poem in this collection, is biblical in insight and humanity.

  7. 4 out of 5

    Deea

    A Note Life is the only way to get covered in leaves, catch your breath on the sand, rise on wings;   to be a dog, or stroke its warm fur; to tell pain from everything it’s not; to squeeze inside events, dawdle in views, to seek the least of all possible mistakes. An extraordinary chance to remember for a moment a conversation held with the lamp switched off; and if only once to stumble on a stone, end up drenched in one downpour or another, mislay your keys in the grass; and to follow a spark on the wind with y A Note Life is the only way to get covered in leaves, catch your breath on the sand, rise on wings;   to be a dog, or stroke its warm fur; to tell pain from everything it’s not; to squeeze inside events, dawdle in views, to seek the least of all possible mistakes. An extraordinary chance to remember for a moment a conversation held with the lamp switched off; and if only once to stumble on a stone, end up drenched in one downpour or another, mislay your keys in the grass; and to follow a spark on the wind with your eyes; and to keep on not knowing something important. Everything Everything— a smug and bumptious word. It should be written in quotes. It pretends to miss nothing, to gather, hold, contain, and have. While all the while it’s just a shred of gale. A Contribution to Statistics Out of a hundred people those who always know better —fifty-two, doubting every step —nearly all the rest, glad to lend a hand if it doesn’t take too long —as high as forty-nine, always good because they can’t be otherwise —four, well, maybe five, able to admire without envy —eighteen, living in constant fear of someone or something —seventy-seven, capable of happiness —twenty-something tops, harmless singly, savage in crowds —half at least, cruel when forced by circumstances —better not to know even ballpark figures, wise after the fact —just a couple more than wise before it, taking only things from life —forty (I wish I were wrong), hunched in pain, no flashlight in the dark —eighty-three sooner or later, worthy of compassion —ninety-nine, mortal —a hundred out of a hundred. Thus far this figure still remains unchanged. Early Hour I’m still asleep, but meanwhile facts are taking place. The window grows white, darknesses turn gray, the room works its way from hazy space, pale, shaky stripes seek its support. By turns, unhurried, since this is a ceremony, the planes of walls and ceiling dawn, shapes separate, one from the other, left to right. The distances between objects irradiate, the first glints twitter on the tumbler, the doorknob. Whatever had been displaced yesterday, had fallen to the floor, been contained in picture frames, is no longer simply happening, but is. Only the details have not yet entered the field of vision. But look out, look out, look out, all indicators point to returning colors and even the smallest thing regains its own hue along with a hint of shadow. This rarely astounds me, but it should. I usually wake up in the role of belated witness, with the miracle already achieved, the day defined and dawning masterfully recast as morning. Some People Some people flee some other people. In some country under a sun and some clouds. They abandon something close to all they’ve got, sown fields, some chickens, dogs, mirrors in which fire now preens. Their shoulders bear pitchers and bundles. The emptier they get, the heavier they grow. What happens quietly: someone’s dropping from exhaustion. What happens loudly: someone’s bread is ripped away, someone tries to shake a limp child back to life. Always another wrong road ahead of them, always another wrong bridge across an oddly reddish river. Around them, some gunshots, now nearer, now farther away, above them a plane seems to circle. Some invisibility would come in handy, some grayish stoniness, or, better yet, some nonexistence for a shorter or a longer while. Something else will happen, only where and what. Someone will come at them, only when and who, in how many shapes, with what intentions. If he has a choice, maybe he won’t be the enemy and will leave them to some sort of life. Photograph from September 11 They jumped from the burning floors— one, two, a few more, higher, lower. The photograph halted them in life, and now keeps them above the earth toward the earth. Each is still complete, with a particular face and blood well hidden. There’s enough time for hair to come loose, for keys and coins to fall from pockets. They’re still within the air’s reach, within the compass of places that have just now opened. I can do only two things for them— describe this flight and not add a last line.

  8. 5 out of 5

    mwpm mwpm

    When I pronounce the word Future, the first syllable already belongs to the past. When I pronounce the word Silence, I destroy it. When I pronounce the word Nothing, I make something no nonbeing can hold. - The Three Oddest Words, pg. 29 * * * They jumped from the burning floors - one, two, a few more, higher, lower. The photograph halted them in life, and now keeps them above the earth toward the earth. Each is still complete, with a particular face and blood well hidden. There's enough time for hair to come loo When I pronounce the word Future, the first syllable already belongs to the past. When I pronounce the word Silence, I destroy it. When I pronounce the word Nothing, I make something no nonbeing can hold. - The Three Oddest Words, pg. 29 * * * They jumped from the burning floors - one, two, a few more, higher, lower. The photograph halted them in life, and now keeps them above the earth toward the earth. Each is still complete, with a particular face and blood well hidden. There's enough time for hair to come loose, for keys and coins to fall from pockets. They're still within the air's reach within the compass of places that have just now opened. I can do only two things for them - describe this flight and not add a last line. - Photograph from September 11, pg. 69 * * * Life is the only way to get covered in leaves, catch your breath on the sand, rise on wings; to be a dog, or stroke its warm fur; to tell pain from everything it's not; to squeeze inside events, dawdle in views, to seek the least of all possible mistakes. An extraordinary chance to remember for a moment a conversation held with the lamp switched off; and if only once to stumble on a stone, end up drenched in one downpour or another, mislay your keys in the grass; and to follow a spark on the ind with your eyes; and to keep on not knowing something important. - A Note, pg. 79

  9. 4 out of 5

    Jane Reye

    Plato, or Why For unclear reasons under unknown circumstances Ideal Being ceased to be satisfied. It could have gone on forever, hewn from darkness, forged from light, in its sleepy gardens above the world. Why on earth did it start seeking thrills in the bad company of matter? What use could it have for imitators, inept, ill-starred, lacking all prospects for eternity? Wisdom limping with a thorn stuck in its heel? Harmony derailed by roiling waters? Beauty holding unappealing entrails and Good — why the shad Plato, or Why For unclear reasons under unknown circumstances Ideal Being ceased to be satisfied. It could have gone on forever, hewn from darkness, forged from light, in its sleepy gardens above the world. Why on earth did it start seeking thrills in the bad company of matter? What use could it have for imitators, inept, ill-starred, lacking all prospects for eternity? Wisdom limping with a thorn stuck in its heel? Harmony derailed by roiling waters? Beauty holding unappealing entrails and Good — why the shadow when it didn’t have one before? There must have been some reason, however slight, but even the Naked Truth, busy ransacking the earth’s wardrobe, won’t betray it. Not to mention, Plato, those appalling poets, litter scattered by the breeze from under statues, scraps from that great Silence up on high.

  10. 5 out of 5

    Laura Leaney

    These poems are remarkable. The words are so light, yet they transmute into ineffable deep feeling. I read the book once and then re-read all the poems in it. My favorites are "The Silence of Plants," "Photograph from September 11," and The Courtesy of the Blind." I loved this book of poems. These poems are remarkable. The words are so light, yet they transmute into ineffable deep feeling. I read the book once and then re-read all the poems in it. My favorites are "The Silence of Plants," "Photograph from September 11," and The Courtesy of the Blind." I loved this book of poems.

  11. 5 out of 5

    Nahid Soltanzadeh

    I loved how she maneuvered seemlessly between big existential questions and little details of ordinary life through one single poem. Most of the poems challenged my perception of what matters in different ways. Especially when she talks about things like war, displacement, or a disaster like 9/11, she brings things, feelings, experiences, lives, etc into spotlight that are often ignored. And the simplicity of her language makes those experiences accessible in a way that I've rarely seen in other I loved how she maneuvered seemlessly between big existential questions and little details of ordinary life through one single poem. Most of the poems challenged my perception of what matters in different ways. Especially when she talks about things like war, displacement, or a disaster like 9/11, she brings things, feelings, experiences, lives, etc into spotlight that are often ignored. And the simplicity of her language makes those experiences accessible in a way that I've rarely seen in other poems that approach such difficult subjects.

  12. 5 out of 5

    Kirsten

    i like her cosmic consciousness

  13. 5 out of 5

    Mardel Fehrenbach

    Fabulous poems that strike a chord and open up new vistas of perception. They beg to be reread.

  14. 5 out of 5

    ra

    First Love They say the first love’s most important. That’s very romantic, but not my experience.   Something was and wasn’t there between us, something went on and went away.   My hands never tremble when I stumble on silly keepsakes and a sheaf of letters tied with string —not even ribbon.   Our only meeting after years: two chairs chatting at a chilly table.   Other loves still breathe deep inside me. This one’s too short of breath even to sigh.   Yet just exactly as it is, it does what the others still can’t manag First Love They say the first love’s most important. That’s very romantic, but not my experience.   Something was and wasn’t there between us, something went on and went away.   My hands never tremble when I stumble on silly keepsakes and a sheaf of letters tied with string —not even ribbon.   Our only meeting after years: two chairs chatting at a chilly table.   Other loves still breathe deep inside me. This one’s too short of breath even to sigh.   Yet just exactly as it is, it does what the others still can’t manage: unremembered, not even seen in dreams, it introduces me to death.

  15. 5 out of 5

    Jason

    I enjoyed this collection well enough, but I only found about 3 AMAZING poems: A Few Words on the Soul A Contribution to Statistics Photograph from September 11 It's kind of fun to see the original Polish poem, but it almost seems like a waste to include them. I don't read Polish. Who really benefits from that? At least the book was quicker to finish that way. I enjoyed this collection well enough, but I only found about 3 AMAZING poems: A Few Words on the Soul A Contribution to Statistics Photograph from September 11 It's kind of fun to see the original Polish poem, but it almost seems like a waste to include them. I don't read Polish. Who really benefits from that? At least the book was quicker to finish that way.

  16. 5 out of 5

    Salty Swift

    Polish Nobel prize winner delivers a fine poetry collection, including the most moving tribute to a dog that is guaranteed to make you weep. Masterful!

  17. 5 out of 5

    Ervirdi Rahmat

    Jarang-jarang baca (dan merasa ngerti) puisi. Kali ini suka bgt. Paling suka ini: The Three Oddest Words When I pronounce the word Future, the first syllable already belongs to the past. When I pronounce the word Silence, I destroy it. When I pronounce the word Nothing, I make something no nonbeing can hold.

  18. 4 out of 5

    Valerie

    I always felt like I was missing something when I read Szymborska. Recently, I was at a salon with a Polish poet, and she read Szymborska out loud for the group in the original Polish. The words were so musical in the original! The poet told us that she loved the translations done by Clare Cavanagh and Stanislaw Baranczak because even though they couldn't recreate the music of the poems, they could capture exactly what Szymborska was trying to say. I made sure to get one of the collections trans I always felt like I was missing something when I read Szymborska. Recently, I was at a salon with a Polish poet, and she read Szymborska out loud for the group in the original Polish. The words were so musical in the original! The poet told us that she loved the translations done by Clare Cavanagh and Stanislaw Baranczak because even though they couldn't recreate the music of the poems, they could capture exactly what Szymborska was trying to say. I made sure to get one of the collections translated by them when I was last at the library. I wish I could have someone read me each of the poems in Polish (maybe I can find this online). I feel like the language is a little deflated, and it seems like everyone is "careful" to be exact when explaining the poems. I almost feel like the poem is being explained to me instead of me reading them. That said, I still think the poems are good. The title poem and her poem about September 11 made me tear up, and I enjoyed reading through a lot of the poems. The last poem in the book is about the alphabet, and I was disappointed that Szymborska only explored the letters up to K and then said "and the rest of the alphabet." Someone once compared my line breaks (which she didn't like) to Szymborska (who she also didn't like). Her line breaks are not even. My favorites: Monologue of a Dog Ensnared in History Photograph from September 11 Clouds The Three Oddest Words

  19. 4 out of 5

    Kirsti

    Terrific collection, and the essay by Billy Collins gives some insight into why she is so popular with English-speaking audiences. My favorite poem was this one: A Little Girl Tugs at the Tablecloth She’s been in this world for over a year, and in this world not everything’s been examined and taken in hand. The subject of today’s investigation is things that don’t move themselves. They need to be helped along, shoved, shifted, taken from their pace and relocated. They don’t all want to go, e,g., the books Terrific collection, and the essay by Billy Collins gives some insight into why she is so popular with English-speaking audiences. My favorite poem was this one: A Little Girl Tugs at the Tablecloth She’s been in this world for over a year, and in this world not everything’s been examined and taken in hand. The subject of today’s investigation is things that don’t move themselves. They need to be helped along, shoved, shifted, taken from their pace and relocated. They don’t all want to go, e,g., the bookshelf, the cupboard, the unyielding walls, the table. But the tablecloth on the stubborn table - when well-seized by its hems – manifests a willingness to travel. And the glasses, plates, creamer, spoons, bowl, are fairly shaking with desire. It’s fascinating, what form of motion will they take, once they’re trembling on the brink: will they roam across the ceiling? fly around the lamp? hop onto the windowsill and from there to a tree? Mr. Newton still has no say in this. Let him look down from the heavens and wave his hands. This experiment must be completed. And it will.

  20. 4 out of 5

    Greg

    I enjoyed this volume of poetry. Szymborska is a thoroughly cynical poet - living in Poland during the 20th century clearly influences her work. "Monologue of a Dog Ensnared in History" is a great poem, easily understood, and one which rattles on. She uses great parallel repetition, "There are dogs and dogs..." and later "There's fate and fate." Poland as the dog of its master is clearly distinguishable, even in a personal poem. Such distillation is also visible in the poem, "The Three Oddest Wor I enjoyed this volume of poetry. Szymborska is a thoroughly cynical poet - living in Poland during the 20th century clearly influences her work. "Monologue of a Dog Ensnared in History" is a great poem, easily understood, and one which rattles on. She uses great parallel repetition, "There are dogs and dogs..." and later "There's fate and fate." Poland as the dog of its master is clearly distinguishable, even in a personal poem. Such distillation is also visible in the poem, "The Three Oddest Words": "When I pronounce the word Future, the first syllable already belongs to the past. When I pronounce the word Silence, I destroy it. When I pronounce the word Nothing, I make something no nonbeing can hold." Her best, in my opinion, however, is "Some People." Read it for its chillingly vagueness. Some people are you in multiple instances. It is not good to be some people.

  21. 4 out of 5

    Rick

    Amazingly, Szymborska continues to improve. Now in her 80s, the Polish poet’s newest collection (poems originally copyrighted in Polish for 2002) is as strong and fresh as any she’s written, which given that she is who she is is no small feat. It’s a collection where each poem wants re-reading, for pleasure and deeper understanding, and the whole leaves you not at all because you begin re-reading it as soon as you finish it. Like Frost and Heaney and a handful of others, the poems speak to you i Amazingly, Szymborska continues to improve. Now in her 80s, the Polish poet’s newest collection (poems originally copyrighted in Polish for 2002) is as strong and fresh as any she’s written, which given that she is who she is is no small feat. It’s a collection where each poem wants re-reading, for pleasure and deeper understanding, and the whole leaves you not at all because you begin re-reading it as soon as you finish it. Like Frost and Heaney and a handful of others, the poems speak to you immediately but bear new insights with each re-reading. Szymborska is an alchemist, who manages a paradox of execution: complex and simple poems in language both rich and spare, without losing the reader in the process.

  22. 4 out of 5

    Dusty

    Wislawa Szymborska is how old now? 85? But these poems, her most recent to have been translated into English, at least to my knowledge, are not the poems of an old lady. Hers is a poetry of perspective, of point of view, of describing objects and landscapes and emotions in one way but without forgetting that they can also be described in an endless number of other ways. Recommended.

  23. 4 out of 5

    Thomas

    Some of these poems are not among her strongest. Even slightly off, she gets 5 stars. The deceptive simplicity and transparency, how she makes difficult psychological and even metaphysical realizations, things that would have been right at the edge of your consciousness, at the top of your intellectual tongue, plain, even obvious. easily read it on the bus trip home yesterday. hurrah!!

  24. 4 out of 5

    Patti K

    This selection was published in 2006 though written in Polish in 2002. She won the Nobel prize for literature in 1996 and it was well-deserved. These poems are full of wit, contemplation, and unusual points of view. I was amazed at her strength of image and content. Unfortunately, the author died last year, so no more poems.

  25. 4 out of 5

    Tamara

    I really wish I spoke Polish because I feel like this would be much more moving in the original language. Things are always slightly lost in translation in regards to poetry. However, Szymborska does provide beautiful poems with vivid imagery. The title poem (the one about the dog) made me tear up a little.

  26. 4 out of 5

    Andrea

    Ms. Szymborksa holds a Nobel Prize for Literature - 1996 - and it is richly deserved. Another accessible poet who writes poems for everyone. Absolutely staggering in their insight and richness. A slender volume that one savors long after.

  27. 4 out of 5

    Penny

    My poetry group is reading this Nobel laureate, Polish poet. I find her poems very approachable - insightful. she talks about ordinary events and gives them fascinating twists. It's fun to find a non-North american poet -- whom I can understand! My poetry group is reading this Nobel laureate, Polish poet. I find her poems very approachable - insightful. she talks about ordinary events and gives them fascinating twists. It's fun to find a non-North american poet -- whom I can understand!

  28. 4 out of 5

    Nicholas During

    Trying to teach myself to read poetry and here, pretty conventionally since she just died, is where I started. And I loved it. I don't have much to say because I am very far from a poetry expert, but I found these poems to be both accessible and moving. I highly enjoyed them, and am a big fan Trying to teach myself to read poetry and here, pretty conventionally since she just died, is where I started. And I loved it. I don't have much to say because I am very far from a poetry expert, but I found these poems to be both accessible and moving. I highly enjoyed them, and am a big fan

  29. 4 out of 5

    Jennifer Stoy

    This was a luminous, thoughtful collection of poems. I think my favorite of the group was "Among the Multitudes" for the lines "Nature's wardrobe/holds a fair supply of costumes" and the imagery and what-ifs of the collection are lovely to read. This was a luminous, thoughtful collection of poems. I think my favorite of the group was "Among the Multitudes" for the lines "Nature's wardrobe/holds a fair supply of costumes" and the imagery and what-ifs of the collection are lovely to read.

  30. 4 out of 5

    Myranda Gillow

    One of my favorites. Szymborska is by turns heartbreaking, poignant, funny, and just so real. I would recommend for anyone, but especially for people who think poetry isn't for them. One of my favorites. Szymborska is by turns heartbreaking, poignant, funny, and just so real. I would recommend for anyone, but especially for people who think poetry isn't for them.

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