Nothing Twice
Nothing can ever happen twice.
In consequence, the sorry fact is
that we arrive here improvised
and leave without the chance to practice.
Even if there is no one dumber,
if you’re the planet’s biggest dunce,
you can’t repeat the class in summer:
this course is only offered once.
No day copies yesterday,
no two nights will teach what bliss is
in precisely the same way,
with precisely the same kisses.
One day, perhaps some idle tongue
mentions your name by accident:
I feel as if a rose were flung
into the room, all hue and scent.
The next day, though you’re here with me,
I can’t help looking at the clock:
A rose? A rose? What could that be?
Is it a flower or a rock?
Why do we treat the fleeting day
with so much needless fear and sorrow?
It’s in its nature not to stay:
Today is always gone tomorrow.
With smiles and kisses, we prefer
to seek accord beneath our star,
although we’re different (we concur)
just as two drops of water are.
Notes
Where Philip Larkin watched newborn lambs stumble through the freezing snow, blind to the subterranean promise of an approaching spring, Wisława Szymborska confronts the fleeting nature of human existence directly, asserting that no moment, gesture, or kiss is ever granted a second rehearsal on the world's stage. The speaking subject dismantles the comfortable illusion of historical equilibrium, revealing that our attempts to master reality through routine are perpetually disrupted by the radical contingency of time, where even the most identical repetitions return carrying an irreconcilable difference. It anchors September’s theme of Echo in the bittersweet geometry of departure, reminding us that repetition is never an exact return to what was, but the quiet resonance of moments that leave an altered mark the instant they slip away. #September #WislawaSzymborska #Echo #Time #Life
From Poems New and Collected: 1957–1997 by Wisława Szymborska. Copyright © 1998 by Wisława Szymborska.