The Ball
.
.
As long as nothing can be known for sure
(no signals have been picked up yet),
as long as Earth is still unlike
the nearer and more distant planets,
.
(no signals have been picked up yet),
as long as Earth is still unlike
the nearer and more distant planets,
.
as long as there's neither hide nor hair
of other grasses graced by other winds,
of other treetops bearing other crowns,
other animals as well-grounded as our own,
.
of other grasses graced by other winds,
of other treetops bearing other crowns,
other animals as well-grounded as our own,
.
as long as only the local echo
has been known to speak in syllables,
.
has been known to speak in syllables,
.
as long as we still haven't heard word
of better or worse mozarts,
platos, edisons somewhere,
.
of better or worse mozarts,
platos, edisons somewhere,
.
as long as our inhuman crimes
are still committed only between humans,
.
are still committed only between humans,
.
as long as our kindness
is still incomparable,
peerless even in its imperfection,
.
is still incomparable,
peerless even in its imperfection,
.
as long as our heads packed with illusions
still pass for the only heads so packed,
.
still pass for the only heads so packed,
.
as long as the roofs of our mouths alone
still raise voices to high heavens–
.
still raise voices to high heavens–
.
let's act like very special guests of honor
at the district-firemen's ball
dance to the beat of the local oompah band,
and pretend that it's the ball
to end all balls.
.
at the district-firemen's ball
dance to the beat of the local oompah band,
and pretend that it's the ball
to end all balls.
.
I can't speak for others–
for me this is
misery and happiness enough:
.
for me this is
misery and happiness enough:
.
just this sleepy backwater
where even the stars have time to burn
while winking at us
unintentionally.
.
.
where even the stars have time to burn
while winking at us
unintentionally.
.
.
by Wislawa Szymborska
from Monologue of a Dog: New Poems
translated by C. Cavanagh and S. Baranczak
from Monologue of a Dog: New Poems
translated by C. Cavanagh and S. Baranczak