I was recently introduced to the poetry of Polish Nobel laureate Wislawa Szymborksa. I read her poems alongside the etchings, drypoints and photogravures of William Kentridge in this beautiful art book, called Receiver.
I was struck by the deceptive simplicity of her language.
Consider the poem "Some People," which opens with a description of people fleeing their homes, leaving behind their possessions. There is the sound of airplanes circling and gunfire. Although we don't know exactly what they are fleeing, the poem's closing lines are chilling:
"Something else is yet to happen, only where and what?
Someone will head toward them, only when and who?
In how many shapes and with what intentions?
Given a choice,
maybe he will choose not to be the enemy and
leave them with some kind of life."
Tonight, I had the good fortune to stumble on to this: Earlier this week, Jenny Holzer created an installation of Szymborska's words, projected on to the side of the Portland Art Museum.
To see language, so imbued with power, composed of light, yet addressing the darker elements of human nature: this to me is thrilling and haunting and beautiful.
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