Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE JOY OF WRITING, by WISLAWA SZYMBORSKA

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THE JOY OF WRITING, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Where is the written doe headed, through these written woods
Last Line: Revenge of a mortal hand
Subject(s): Writing & Writers

Where is the written doe headed, through these written woods?
To drink from the written spring
that copies her muzzle like carbon paper?
Why is she raising her head, does she hear something?
Perched on four legs borrowed from the truth
she pricks up her ears from under my fingertips.
Silence -- even this word rustles across the page
and parts the branches
stemming from the word woods.

Above the blank page, poised to pounce, lurk
letters, which might spell trouble,
penning sentences
from which there will be no escape.

There is, in an ink drop, a goodly supply
of hunters, eyes winked,
ready to charge down this steep pen,
circle the doe, and sight their guns.

They forget there is no life here.
Different laws, black and white, hold sway.
The blink of an eye will last as long as I want,
allowing division into little eternities
full of bullets stopped in mid-flight.
Nothing would happen forever here if I said so.
Not even a leaf will fall without my go-ahead,
nor will a blade of grass bend under the full stop of the hoof.

Then is there such a world
where I wield fate unfettered?
A time I bind with strings of signs?
Existence without end at my command?

The joy of writing.
The prospect of preserving.
Revenge of a mortal hand.

Copyright Joanna Trzeciak.

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