The Terrorist, He Watches by Wislawa Szymborska
This one was also mentioned by a reader. It’s a horrifyingly matter-of-fact description of people’s last moments, before the bomb goes off.
The Terrorist, He Watches
By Wislawa Szymborska
The bomb will go off in the bar at one twenty p.m.
Now it’s only one sixteen p.m.
Some will still have time to get in,
Some to get out.
The terrorist has already crossed to the other side of the street.
The distance protects him from any danger,
And what a sight for sore eyes:
A woman in a yellow jacket, she goes in.
A man in dark glasses, he comes out.
Guys in jeans, they are talking.
One seventeen and four seconds.
That shorter guy’s really got it made, and gets on a scooter,
And that taller one, he goes in.
One seventeen and forty seconds.
That girl there, she’s got a green ribbon in her hair.
Too bad that bus just cut her off.
One eighteen p.m.
The girl’s not there any more.
Was she dumb enough to go in, or wasn’t she?
That we’ll see when they carry them out.
One nineteen p.m.
No one seems to be going in.
Instead a fat baldy’s coming out.
Like he’s looking for something in his pockets and
at one nineteen and fifty seconds
he goes back for those lousy gloves of his.
It’s one twenty p.m.
The time, how it drags.
Should be any moment now.
Not yet.
Yes, this is it.
The bomb, it goes off.
A favorite poet. Her poems often play out the themes of coincidence, control, and how small choices result in events which we can’t take back. Like in this poem.
For years my web site had this fragment of a poem of her’s on it: “Nothing can ever happen twice. In consequence, the sorry fact is that we arrive here improvised and leave without the chance to practice.” We’re all ad-libbing. OPening night, with ot rehearsals. And our best lines aren’t even getting written down! Sounds like a bad dream, not everyday life.
But perhaps it’s best that we’re unaware of all those sliding doors closed by seemly small choices. Those small events leading to lives we missed out on, or the ones we rushed through to just in time, no going back. To stop and think about each small choice, well, the mind would freeze in indecision.
Here’s a similar favourite quote from another Pole, the director Krzysztof Kieslowski (best know — by me at least! — for his Three Colours trilogy). “At this moment, in this cafe, we’re sitting next to strangers. Everyone will get up, leave, and go on their own way. And they’ll never meet again. And if they do, they won’t realize that it’s not for the first time.”
And here we are sharing this web page of poetry, and then going off to share other ones. Likely without even knowing it. Maybe siting down beside eachother at a reading and not ever realizing. Isn’t that odd? But delightful? At least there’s this moment, and this page, for this time being. A secret note for people who adore poems.
Doug,
I really like reading your comments and I appreciate that you take the time to share your thoughts. I love that these poems can bring people together, on an intellectual and/or emotional level, even if we have nothing in common but reading that poem on that day. There are unexplored worlds, but right now, the poem is enough.
Here’s a curious post script.
I was in New York last month and happened to walk right by that car bomb in Times Square just before it was discovered. So if it had been a more skilled terrorist, I might not be writing this comment. Odd, those chance events that life throws your way. Kind of a Robert Frost “Two Roads Diverged” moment, but with more ‘whim of fate’ and less ‘personal choice.’ In this case, on that path where the bomb worked, one of the roads just, you know, suddenly ended. Keeps you on your toes. And makes you appreciate the brief time we have on this planet.