thus not all. Not even the majority of all but the minority.
Not counting schools, where one has to,
and the poets themselves,
there might be two people per thousand.
but one also likes chicken soup with noodles,
one likes compliments and the color blue,
one likes an old scarf,
one likes having the upper hand,
one likes stroking a dog.
but what is poetry.
Many shaky answers
have been given to this question.
But I don't know and don't know and hold on to it
like to a sustaining railing.
Translated by Regina Grol
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Maria Wisława Anna Szymborska
Szymborska 2011 (1).jpg
Wisława Szymborska, Kraków, Poland 2011
Born 2 July 1923
Prowent, Poland (now Kórnik, Poland)
Died 1 February 2012 (aged 88)
Poet essayist translator
Goethe Prize (1991)
Herder Prize (1995)
Nobel Prize in Literature (1996)
Order of the White Eagle (2011)
Spouse Adam Włodek (1948–1954; divorced)
Maria Wisława Anna Szymborska [viˈswava ʂɨmˈbɔrska] (2 July 1923 – 1 February 2012) was a Polish poet, essayist, translator and recipient of the 1996 Nobel Prize in Literature. Born in Prowent, which has since become part of Kórnik, she later resided in Kraków until the end of her life. In Poland, Szymborska's books have reached sales rivaling prominent prose authors: although she once remarked in a poem, "Some Like Poetry" ("Niektórzy lubią poezję"), that no more than two out of a thousand people care for the art.
Her reputation rests on a relatively small body of work, fewer than 350 poems. When asked why she had published so few poems, she said: "I have a trash can in my home".