Surplus (1)
Translated from the Polish by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh
A new star has been discovered,
which doesn't mean that things have gotten brighter
or that something we've been missing has appeared.
The star is large and distant,
so distant that it's small,
even smaller than others
much smaller than it.
Small wonder, then, if we were struck with wonder;
as we would be if only we had the time.
The star's age, mass, location––
all this perhaps will do
for one doctoral dissertation and
a wine-and-cheese reception
in circles close to the sky:
the astronomer, his wife, friends, and relations,
casual, congenial, come as you are,
mostly chat on earthbound topics,
surrounded by cozy earth tones.
The star's superb,
but that's no reason
why we can't drink to the ladies
who are incalculably closer.
The star's inconsequential.
It has no impact on the weather, fashion, final score,
government shake-ups, moral crises, take-home pay.
No effect on propaganda or on heavy industry.
It's not reflected in a conference table's shine.
It's supernumerary in the light of life's numbered days.
What's the use of asking
under how many stars man is born
and under how many in a moment he will die.
A new one.
"At least show me where it is."
"Between that gray cloud's jagged edge
and the acacia twig over there on the left."
"I see," I say.
Surplus (2)
Translated from the Polish by Joanna Trzeciak
A new star has been discovered,
which doesn't mean it's gotten any brighter
or something missing has been gained.
The star is large and distant,
so distant, that it's small,
even smaller than others
a lot smaller than itself.
Surprise would be nothing surprising
if we only had time for it.
Star's age, star's mass, star's position,
all of that may be enough
for one doctoral thesis
and a modest glass of wine
in the circles close to the sky:
an astronomer, his wife, relatives, and colleagues,
a casual ambience, no dress code,
local topics fuel a down-to-earth conversation
and people are munching on terra chips.
A wonderful star,
but that's still no reason
not to drink to the ladies,
incomparably closer.
Star without consequences.
Without influence on weather, fashion, score of the game,
changed in government, income, or the crisis of values.
With no effect on propaganda or heavy industry.
Without reflection in the finish of the conference table.
An excess number for life's numbered days.
Why need we ask
under how many stars someone is born
and under how many they die a little while later?
A new one.
"At least show me where it is."
"Between the edge of that jagged grayish cloud
and the twig of that locust tree on the left."
"Oh," I say.
