Comments about Elizabeth Simson
Szymborska. For days your name
was just a slip of paper in my pocket,
written by a bookstore clerk in Gdań sk
who took pity on my poor pronunciation.
I carried you like a talisman throughout Poland,
but wherever I found your words
I was unable to read them.
In Kraków I gave up, sat beside the great river
and watched the young people lying together,
the old men arguing, dogs running in the sun.
After weeks of traveling alone,
something hard in me had finally begun to open,
a tight fist in my chest let go and
breathing came easier than...