Amor a primera vista
Ambos están convencidos
de que los ha unido un sentimiento repentino.
Es hermosa esa seguridad,
pero la inseguridad es más hermosa.
Imaginan que como antes no se conocían
no había sucedido nada entre ellos.
Pero ¿qué decir de las calles, las escaleras, los
pasillos
en los que hace tiempo podrían haberse cruzado?
Me gustaría preguntarles
si no recuerdan
—quizá un encuentro frente a frente
alguna vez en una puerta giratoria,
o algún "lo siento"
o el sonido de "se ha equivocado" en el
teléfono—,
pero conozco su respuesta.
No recuerdan.
Se sorprenderían
de saber que ya hace mucho tiempo
que la casualidad juega con ellos,
una casualidad no del todo preparada
para convertirse en su destino,
que los acercaba y alejaba,
que se interponía en su camino
y que conteniendo la risa
se apartaba a un lado.
Hubo signos, señales,
pero qué hacer si no eran comprensibles.
¿No habrá revoloteado
una hoja de un hombro a otro
hace tres años
o incluso el último martes?
Hubo algo perdido y encontrado.
Quién sabe si alguna pelota
en los matorrales de la infancia.
Hubo picaportes y timbres
en los que un tacto
se sobrepuso a otro tacto.
Maletas, una junto a otra, en una consigna.
Quizá una cierta noche el mismo sueño
desaparecido inmediatamente después de despertar.
Todo principio
no es mas que una continuación,
y el libro de los acontecimientos
se encuentra siempre abierto a la mitad.
Love at First Sight
They’re both convinced
that a sudden passion joined them.
Such certainty is beautiful
but uncertainty is more beautiful still.
Since they’d never met before, they’re sure
that there’d been nothing between them.
But what’s the word from the streets, staircases, hallways –
perhaps they’ve passed each other by a million times?
that there’d been nothing between them.
But what’s the word from the streets, staircases, hallways –
perhaps they’ve passed each other by a million times?
I want to ask them
if they don’t remember –
a moment face to face
in some revolving door?
perhaps a “sorry” muttered in a crowd?
a curt “wrong number” caught in the receiver? –
but I know the answer.
No, they don’t remember.
if they don’t remember –
a moment face to face
in some revolving door?
perhaps a “sorry” muttered in a crowd?
a curt “wrong number” caught in the receiver? –
but I know the answer.
No, they don’t remember.
They’d be amazed to hear
that Chance has been toying with them
now for years.
that Chance has been toying with them
now for years.
Not quite ready yet
to become their Destiny,
it pushed them close, drove them apart,
it barred their path,
stifling a laugh,
and then leaped aside.
to become their Destiny,
it pushed them close, drove them apart,
it barred their path,
stifling a laugh,
and then leaped aside.
There were signs and signals
even if they couldn’t read them yet.
Perhaps three years ago
or just last Tuesday
a certain leaf fluttered
from one shoulder to another?
Something was dropped and then picked up.
Who knows, maybe the ball that vanished
into childhood’s thickets?
even if they couldn’t read them yet.
Perhaps three years ago
or just last Tuesday
a certain leaf fluttered
from one shoulder to another?
Something was dropped and then picked up.
Who knows, maybe the ball that vanished
into childhood’s thickets?
There were doorknobs and doorbells
where one touch had covered another
beforehand.
Suitcases checked and standing side by side.
One night perhaps some dream
grown hazy by morning.
where one touch had covered another
beforehand.
Suitcases checked and standing side by side.
One night perhaps some dream
grown hazy by morning.
Every beginning
is only a sequel, after all,
and the book of events
is always open halfway through.
is only a sequel, after all,
and the book of events
is always open halfway through.
Wislawa Szymborska
Translated by Stanisław Barańczak and Clare Cavanagh
