"Still life with a balloon" by Wistawa Szymborska

The following poem by Wistawa Szymborska was included in a collection of poems published in 1957 under the title “Calling out to Yeti”. A "still life" in painting, is a work of art depicting mostly inanimate subject matter, typically ordinary objects which may be either natural or man-made. Here we have a poem that is a still life. The canvas laid out before us is life itself as we look at it from a certain distance. The poet does not use memories to paint this canvas. For memories are deceitful, fabricated with old age or suppressed on purpose. They contain colours that cannot withstand the passing of time and fade away. But objects; our life is full of them. They come and they go. They contain fragments of our character, our age, our self. We can assemble the pieces in the puzzle. We can faithfully retrace a path with objects. Like Hansel’s little white pebbles we will look back and find our way. But if in the end we find ourselves still staring at a dark canvas, there is hope. Hope in the lost objects. The ones that got away. The forsaken ones. And they will lead us back in time faithfully. They might even show us an alternative ending or beginning. Like “Rosebud” in Citizen Cane, the balloon in this poem will be the object that will ring the bell of truth and will eventually liberate the poet.  


STILL LIFE WITH A BALLOON by Wistawa Szymborska

Returning memories?

No, at the time of death

I’d like to see lost objects

return instead

Avalanches of gloves,

coats, suitcases, umbrellas -

come, and I’ll say at last:

What good’s all this?

Safety pins, two odd combs,

a paper rose, a knife,

some string-come, and I’ll say

at last: I haven’t missed you.

Please turn up, key, come out,

wherever you’ve been hiding,

in time for me to say:

You’ve gotten rusty, my friend!

Downpours of affidavits,

permits and questionnaires,

rain down and I will say:

I see the sun behind you.

My watch, dropped in a river,

bob up and let me seize you-

then, face to face, I’ll say:

Your so-called time is up. 

And lastly, toy balloon

once kidnapped by the wind-

come home, and I will say:

There are no children here.

Fly out the open window

and into the wide world;

let someone else shout “Look!”

and I will cry.

(The poem can be found in the book Wistawa Szymborska “Poems new and collected 1957-1997” translated by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh, Harcourt editions. Thank you John Sortix for this wonderful gift) 

Complicité’s performance of “The Master and Margarita"

"...'It was like this’, the prisoner began talking  eagerly. 'The evening before last, near the temple, I made the acquaintance of a young  man who called himself Judas, from the town of Kiriath. He invited me to his place in the Lower City and treated me to...'
     'A good man?' Pilate asked, and a devilish fire flashed in his eyes.
     'A very good man and an inquisitive one,' the prisoner confirmed. ‘He showed the greatest  interest in my thoughts and received me very cordially...'
     'Lit the lamps...' Pilate spoke through his teeth, in the same tone as the prisoner, and his eyes glinted.
     Yes,' Yeshua went on, slightly surprised that  the procurator was so well informed, 'and asked me to give my view of state authority. He was extremely interested in this question.'
     'And what did you say?' asked Pilate.'Or are you going to reply that you've forgotten what you said?' But there was already hopelessness in Pilate's tone.
     `Among other things,' the prisoner recounted,`I said that all authority is violence over people, and that a time will come when there will be no authority of the Caesars, nor any other authority. Man will pass into the kingdom of truth and justice, where generally there will be no need for any authority.'
     'Go on!'
     'I didn't go on,' said the prisoner. 'Here men ran in, bound me, and took me away to prison.’...”

Extract from the novel “The Master and Margarita” by Mikhail Bulgakov     

The British theatre group “Complicité” is one of the most exciting theatre groups in the world today. Their amazing performance of Bulgakov’s masterpiece “ The Master and Margarita” left the audience stunned. Incorporating moving cameras projected on the screen, shadow play, puppets, miming, microphones and superb acting throughout they did much better justice to the play than Pontius Pilate would ever hope for if he could turn back the time. All hail Simon McBurney! Next performances are scheduled for 15 March 2012 - 7 April 2012 / 19:15, 14:00 at the Barbican Theatre in London. Don’t miss it for the world.
  

Ο Καιόμενος του Τάκη Σινόπουλου

Ο Καιόμενος
Το ποίημα ανήκει στη συλλογή Μεταίχμιο Β (1957)

Κοιτάχτε μπήκε στη φωτιά! είπε ένας από το πλήθος.

Γυρίσαμε τα μάτια γρήγορα. Ήταν
στ’ αλήθεια αυτός που απόστρεψε το πρόσωπο, όταν του
μιλήσαμε. Και τώρα καίγεται. Μα δε φωνάζει βοήθεια.


Διστάζω. Λέω να πάω εκεί. Να τον αγγίξω με το χέρι μου.
Είμαι από τη φύση μου φτιαγμένος να παραξενεύομαι.


Ποιος είναι τούτος που αναλίσκεται περήφανος;
Το σώμα του το ανθρώπινο δεν τον πονά;


Η χώρα εδώ είναι σκοτεινή. Και δύσκολη. Φοβάμαι.
Ξένη φωτιά μην την ανακατεύεις, μου είπαν.


Όμως εκείνος καίγονταν μονάχος. Καταμόναχος.
Κι όσο αφανίζονταν τόσο άστραφτε το πρόσωπο.


Γινόταν ήλιος.


Στην εποχή μας όπως και σε περασμένες εποχές
άλλοι είναι μέσα στη φωτιά κι άλλοι χειροκροτούνε.


Ο ποιητής μοιράζεται στα δυο.

“ We are all fools. Let’s all go home."

Philip Gibbs was dispatched to the Western front during the First World war as an official war correspondent and in the process he became a novelist. He consciously decided to report the truth about the great war and not shy behind cheap patriotic articles and newspaper propaganda sensationalism. Soon enough, he found out that this was not acceptable by the establishment. The War Office in London decided to intervene and 'manage' popular reporting of the war. Censorship became widespread and Gibbs was denied permission to remain on the Western Front. Stubbornly refusing to return, Gibbs was duly arrested and sent home. This small excerpt from his book “The Realities of War”, published after the armistice, could have the title “The Devil’s trap”:       

“... That thought of war's futility inspired an episode which was narrated throughout the army in that winter of '15, and led to curious conversations in dugouts and billets. Above a German front-line trench appeared a plank on which, in big letters, was scrawled these words:


"The English are fools."


"Not such bloody fools as all that!" said a sergeant, and in a few minutes the plank was smashed to splinters by rifle-fire.


Another plank appeared, with other words:


"The French are fools."


Loyalty to our allies caused the destruction of that board.


A third plank was put up:


"We're all fools. Let's all go home."


That board was also shot to pieces, but the message caused some laughter, and men repeating it said: "There's a deal of truth in those words. Why should this go on? What's it all about? Let the old men who made this war come and fight it out among themselves, at Hooge. The fighting-men have no real quarrel with one another. We all want to go home to our wives and our work."


But neither side was prepared to "go home" first. Each side was in a trap--a devil's trap from which there was no escape. Loyalty to their own side, discipline, with the death penalty behind it, spell words of old tradition, obedience to the laws of war or to the caste which ruled them, all the moral and spiritual propaganda handed out by pastors, newspapers, generals, staff-officers, old men at home, exalted women, female furies, a deep and simple love for England and Germany, pride of manhood, fear of cowardice--a thousand complexities of thought and sentiment prevented men, on both sides, from breaking the net of fate in which they were entangled, and revolting against that mutual, unceasing massacre, by a rising from the trenches with a shout of, "We're all fools! . . . Let's all go home!”..."

Polly Jean Harvey has come up with a stunning album inspired by the above folly of armed conflict from the First world war to Afghanistan and Iraq. Taking a huge risk and changing musical direction, she even changed her vocal style to suit the material. What a far cry this is from all the “censored” music being produced these days. Maybe she should also be arrested... 

Listen to:

P.J.Harvey - Let England shake