Unfathomable Life

Several months ago, I wrote down a poem in my notebook thinking that one day I might want to post it. I would look at it from time to time, but the right time never seemed to appear. I liked the poem, yet I had questions about it. I looked at it again a few days ago. Still not the right time. Well, unfortunately, today seems to be the right day.

"A Contribution to Statistics"

Out of a hundred people

those who always know better
--fifty-two

doubting every step
--nearly all the rest,

glad to lend a hand
if it doesn't take too long
--as high as forty-nine,

always good
because they can't be otherwise
--four, well maybe five,

able to admire without envy
--eighteen,

suffering illusions
induced by fleeting youth
--sixty, give or take a few,

not to be taken lightly
--forty and four,

living in constant fear
of someone or something
--seventy-seven,

capable of happiness
--twenty-something tops,

harmless singly, savage in crowds
--half at least,

cruel
when forced by circumstances
--better not to know
even ballpark figures,

wise after the fact
--just a couple more than wise before it,

taking only things from life
--thirty
(I wish I were wrong),

hunched in pain,
no flashlight in the dark
--eighty-three
sooner or later,

righteous
--thirty-five, which is a lot,

righteous
and understanding
--three,

worthy of compassion
--ninety-nine,

mortal
--a hundred out of a hundred.
Thus far this figure still remains unchanged.

~ Wislawa Szymborska



Ms. Szymborska passed away today at the age of 88, at her home in Krakau, Poland. Awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1996, she was referred to as "the Mozart of poetry" by the Nobel committee. Last year, she was awarded Poland's highest distinction, The Order of the White Eagle. I like that. That sounds like a fine honor to have bestowed upon a person.

Mortal?  It would seem so. But, I am hoping she is just out of sight, still here, still moving,  "Into unfathomable life." *

* From her poem, "Utopia."