A review by tabularasablog
Here by Wisława Szymborska

5.0

I had to pause for a moment to recollect my senses and my breath, because the poet had captured a memory of mine, a big fleeting memory, in a few short lines, somehow, from across oceans and scripts. How do writers do that? That's why literary analysis is meaningless sometimes- how can you analyse such a moment of pure connection?

Highway Accident

They still don’t know
what happened on the highway
half an hour ago.

On their watches
it’s just the same old time,
afternoonish, Thursdayish, September.