rust, my dear friend, rust

STILL LIFE WITH A BALLOON

Returning memories?

No, at the time of death

I’d like to see lost objects

return instead

Avalanches of gloves,

coats, suitcases, umbrellas -

come, and I’ll say at last:

What good’s all this?

Safety pins, two odd combs,

a paper rose, a knife,

some string-come, and I’ll say

at last: I haven’t missed you.

Please turn up, key, come out,

wherever you’ve been hiding,

in time for me to say:

You’ve gotten rusty, my friend!

Downpours of affidavits,

permits and questionnaires,

rain down and I will say:

I see the sun behind you.

My watch, dropped in a river,

bob up and let me seize you-

then, face to face, I’ll say:

Your so-called time is up. 

And lastly, toy balloon

once kidnapped by the wind-

come home, and I will say:

There are no children here.

Fly out the open window

and into the wide world;

let someone else shout “Look!”

and I will cry.

Wistawa Szymborska, translated by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh.

Still Life with Toy Balloon

Instead of the return of memories
at the hour of death
I order up the return
of lost objects.

Through the windows, the doors - umbrellas,
a suitcase, gloves, a coat,
so I can say:
What use is all that to me?

Safety pins, this comb or that,
a paper rose, a string, a knife,
so I can say:
I have no regrets about anything.

Wherever you may be, key,
try to arrive on time,
so I can say:
It’s all rust, my dear friend, rust.

A cloud of certificates will descend,
of passes and questionnaires,
so I can say:
The sun is setting.

O watch, swim out of the river,
let me take you in my hand,
so I can say:
Don’t still pretend to indicate the hour.

The toy balloon torn loose by the wind
will also reappear,
so I can say:
There are no children here.

Fly off through the open window,
fly off into the wide world,
let someone cry out: Oh!
so I can weep.

Translated from the Polish by Magnus Y. Krynski and Robert A. Maguire

Naturaleza muerta con globo.

En lugar de que vuelvan los recuerdos
en el instante de la muerte
solicito el regreso
de las cosas perdidas.

Por las puertas y ventanas: los paraguas,
la maleta, los guantes, el abrigo,
para poder decir:
qué me importa todo eso.

Alfileres, este peine, aquél,
la rosa de papel, la cuerda, el cuchillo,
para poder decir:
nada de eso echo de menos.

Dondequiera que estés, llave,
trata de llegar a tiempo,
para poder decir:
la herrumbre, querida, la herrumbre.

Descenderá una nube de constancias,
de pases, de expedientes,
para poder decir:
el sol se pone.

Reloj, fluye desde el río,
deja que te tome en mi mano,
para poder decir:
finges la hora.

Aparecerá también el globo
secuestrado por el viento,
para poder decir:
aquí no hay niños.

Vuela por la ventana abierta,
vuela por el amplio mundo,
que alguien exclame: ¡Ay!
para poder llorar.

Wislawa Szymborska.

La naturaleza muerta que sigue es del francés Simon Renard de Saint Andre del XVII.