The Frank Skinner Show - Frank Skinner's Poetry Podcast: Wislawa Szymborska

Episode Date: December 18, 2024

Frank and the poet, Wislawa Szymborska, discover how many people actually like poetry. The poems referenced are ‘Plato, or Why’ and ‘Some Like Poetry’ by Wislawa Szymborska. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

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Help turn on confidence and connections and possibilities. From youth shelters to job training, mental health counseling and beyond, the YMCA offers hundreds of programs that empower people to shine their brightest. See our charity's impact at ymcagta.org slash charity. Hello and welcome to Frank Skinner's poetry podcast. Some of my regular listeners may recall that on a previous episode I talked about a Polish poet called Tadeusz Dabrowski and I talked then about translation and the problems of reading poetry in translation. Today I'd like to look at the work of another Polish poet called Wieszawa Zimborska.

And she was born in 1923 and died in 2012 at the age of 88. She's something of a legend in Polish poetry I think it's fair to say and she actually won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1996 I'll tell you if you like the Motivation that was given they do a thing which explains why people have won the prize called the motivation which explains why people have won the prize called the motivation. This is what they said that she won it. And I quote, for poetry that with ironic precision allows the historical and biological context to come to light in fragments of human reality.

And relax. So I think that probably means that she writes about small things in order to illustrate big things, but it might not mean that. I read a lot of reviews of poetry in newspapers and magazines. When I say I read a lot of reviews of poetry, I read the first three paragraphs of a lot of reviews of poetry and I come out of it feeling worthless, empty and certainly unworthy of doing a poetry podcast. But I'm battling on. I don't know what people are talking about most of the time. To be fair to them I'm probably less inclined to put the effort into the review than I am to

put the effort into the poetry. But in saying that of course I make myself sound all grand and suggest that I have tremendous clarity and lucidity and I'm free from pretension, whereas in fact pretension is one of my favourite things. Incidentally when Zimborska won that Nobel Prize for Literature in 1996 she gave the shortest speech ever by a Nobel Literature recipient, which I think just shows how brilliant poets are at economy of expression. Okay, so the first Zimborska poem I want to look at is called Plato or Why? And there's no question mark after that why. Oh, let's find out.

Well, why? I'm going to read you the first chunk. For unclear reasons, under unknown circumstances, ideal beings cease to be satisfied. It could have gone on forever. Hewn from darkness, forged from light, in its sleepy gardens above the world. Why on earth did it start seeking thrills in the bad company of matter? What use could it have for imitators? Inept, ill-starred, lacking

all prospects for eternity. Okay, now that missing question mark I think can be explained by the fact that the title is part of the first stanza in a way. So it can be read like this. Plato or why for unclear reasons under unknown circumstances ideal being ceased to be satisfied. Right now that to me if you put the what is positioned as the title Plato or why which is generally printed in block capitals and made to look like a title. It looks like a poetic title, Plato or why poets are often messing about with punctuation and ditching things like question marks. They don't care. But when

you read it as Plato or why for unclear reasons under unknown circumstances ideal being cease to be satisfied. It sounds less like a poetic title and more like a long title of a philosophical treatise. I think this whole poem could be seen as a sort of a philosophy versus poetry battle, but we'll let that unfold. I'm just planting that idea. Now let's look at the very first stanza and I'm going to include the apparent title, Plato or why for unclear reasons under unknown circumstances, ideal being ceased to be satisfied. Now the very mention of Plato might have frightened a few people off you know

ancient Greek philosophy. Come on don't worry this is a poetry podcast so the emphasis will always be on that and if this poem is a battle between philosophy and poetry, you know Which side I'm on but Plato is an interesting topic for a poet to be Examining because of Plato's attitude to poets which again I'll come to later. Let's stick with this for unclear reasons under unknown circumstances, ideal being ceased to be satisfied. Ideal being is given a capital I and a capital B and this ideal being is a state of being which Plato discussed in his philosophical writings. The way Plato saw it is that there is a state of being, this ideal being, where all the ideals, all

the originals of the things we have on earth existed. So it would be the home of the ideal elephant and the ideal strawberry and ideal love and they are perfect and original and unchangeable and down on earth we have the sort of cheap copies of those originals. That was a simplified version of how Plato saw things. And Plato famously spoke of the cave, that we all live in this gloomy cave, and the truth is somewhere behind us, where we can't see it. All these ideals, these perfect truths, we can't see them. What we see is because of the fire that's burning in that cave, we see shadows of these ideal truths,

these originals, we see that cast on the wall of our cave and that's all we've got. So everything we see is a bit flickering and a bit dark and a bit blurry, but that's all we have to hold on to. Of course, Plato being a philosopher thinks that philosophy is the way to see past the shadows. And he talks about philosophers braving the outside world, stepping out of the cave. We ordinary folk are too frightened to try that and even though the Sun is blinding its clarity gives philosophers a chance to see the truth so for unclear reasons under unknown circumstances ideal being ceased to be satisfied now ideal being is a state of being that is how Plato

would see it. It's not a being as such it's not a God but Zimborska being a poet doesn't want to be dealing with mighty abstracts. Abstracts can make poetry a bit wishy-washy. It does thrive on specific. So she personifies ideal being in this poem and makes it more of a being and less of a state of being. So first three lines, for unclear reasons under unknown circumstances ideal being cease to be satisfied unclear and unknown because it's such a distant and unfathomable thing this this state of being so ideal being a cease to be satisfied and there's the beginning of the personification a state of being can't cease to be satisfied. This seems

now to be like a person who's become unhappy with their lot. It could have gone on forever, hewn from darkness, forged from light in its sleepy gardens above the world. So it could have gone on forever. The whole idea in Plato is the ideal being is immortal, eternal. It is here hewn from darkness and forged from light. It makes it sound very mighty, very monumental and complete. It has darkness and light. It doesn't need anything else but I think this last line of this stanza is where the hints begin of why Ideal being a cease to be satisfied because obviously you would think if you're right ideal being no personified by the poet

Life would be great. everything is perfect where you live. But this line, in its sleepy gardens above the world, suddenly, above the world sounds quite good if you're an elitist, but sleepy gardens, is that great? Okay, so that's the first hint. And what happens in this poem throughout is you have a sort of Platonist the speaker of the poem who is

completely bamboozled as to why ideal being would ever wish to lower itself and have any mingling with the poor imitations of the earthly. And this voice, a sort of twin voice in the poem, which seems to be the poet's voice, which is constantly undermining that argument, undermining that narrator, and giving us little hints as to why ideal being has good reasons to not want to stay in that sleepy garden. Why on earth did it start seeking thrills in the bad company of matter? Why on earth? I'm assuming that the translators Claire

Kavanagh and Stanislaw Baranczak have taken the phrase why on earth from the original poem they may have put what sounds like an English ism why on earth they might have put it in because it emphasizes the point being made by the well the speaker and the the, but particularly the speaker. Why on earth did it start seeking thrills in the bad company of matter? Why on earth? Why not in that ideal state? Why has it come down to earth?

Why is it mixing with the low life that we are? So even if it isn't a direct translation, it seems to enhance the message of the poem. It is true to the poem, which I think is acceptable in the world of translation. Why on earth did it start seeking thrills in the bad company of matter? Remember, it was in the sleepy gardens above the world,

and now it's seeking thrills in the bad company of matter. Now it's really been personified. Now it's one of those nice girls you used to get in 1950s teen songs who fell in love with that naughty guy from the wrong side of the tracks and really let herself down and disgraced herself and upset her family. That seems to be what's happened with

ideal being. Ideal being has fallen for the thrills, the cheap thrills that you get on earth. that you get on earth. And the speaker is confused and slightly outraged by this, this luau. What could ideal being possibly see in all this? Here's the next stanza. What use could it have for imitators, inept, ill-starred, lacking all prospects for eternity. So as I say, everything we see is an imitation.

Inept, ill-starred, everything is less than the ideal. It is all doomed. It cannot be immortal. It is mortal, lacking all prospects for eternity. What use could it have for imitators, inept, ill-starred, lacking all prospects for eternity? This is what the speaker doesn't get. What is drawing ideal being towards something so much less than itself? Then you get a fabulous passage where you get four classic ideals, things that you would imagine in that ideal being state, that

the perfect expression of these marvelous things. And the speaker looks at wisdom, harmony, beauty and good, these tremendously important qualities and he expresses as he sees it what I'm saying he because it sounds like a man to me, even though the poet is a woman you know what I mean is a bit what could what could ideal being possibly seen or these losers right here's those four great qualities wisdom harmony beauty and good and here is the speaker's opinion of what happens to them when they start mixing with matter. Wisdom limping with a thorn stuck in its heel. Harmony derailed by roiling waters. Beauty holding unappealing entrails. And good why the shadow when it didn't have one before?

Speaker is outraged at what's happened to these marvelous things. Let's look at it. Wisdom limping with a thorn stock in its heel. It's not perfect anymore and it's been physicalized. It limps. It has a thorn in it, in its heel, one imagines pain and blood, but also you can't get past the fact that it is progressing, it is fighting that pain, it's fighting that limp and continuing to move forward.

And there I think you get the sense of what the human does to these ideals. Okay it might mess them up, it might make them less perfect, but it gives them blood and fire and determination and passion and spirit. Next one, harmony derailed by roiling waters. Roiling being turbulent, agitated. Harmony, suddenly nature, even nature on earth seems to be, as it says, derailing that with its roiling waters. Suddenly it's loud and scary and slightly uncontrollable. Beauty holding unappealing entrails. I think

there's two meanings to that. I think it's about how earthly beauty can be a surface thing. So if you take human beauty you wouldn't have to dig very deep below the surface to find literal unappealing entrails, bells and bladders and kidneys and things. I think it might also refer to the ancient ritual, which I think is a Roman ritual, so post-Plato, but that isn't really relevant because the speaker is post-Plato as well. as well. This thing where sort of the magicians of the tribe hold up entrails and read them, and they can read the future in them, they can read great truths in these filthy, blood-covered, internal parts of animals, and maybe even humans, I don't know. And that, again, I think, seems, if you're a Platonist, to go against the beauty of order and reason. You don't want this sort of magical analysis of dark internal things that are usually hidden

you want order and reason and science if you like to approach it so beauty can be a surface thing and you don't have to dig very far to find the ugliness beneath or it can just be spoiled by mankind's human kind's crazy striving for oddity and magic and the mysterious I Would say by the way, there's something very poetic about reading entrails to find truths something very poetic about reading entrails to find truths, something about going deep into somethings, going into the mysterious, going into the not oft discussed and giving it a sort of a magic analysis. Anyway finally good. Why the shadow when it didn't have one before? And as we've said, good in the state of ideal being is perfect, but in the cave, everything is murky

and unclear and shadow. Okay. There must have been some reason, this is some reason for why ideal being has lowered itself like this, there must have been some reason, however slight, but even the naked truth, busy ransacking the earth's wardrobe, won't betray it. I wonder if I'll ever do one of these podcasts without a siren in the background. You know there are people doing real crime, true crime podcasts who would kill to have

a siren in the background just for the sake of reality and a sort of apposite soundtrack, but doesn't really suit the discussion of philosophy versus poetry. Nevertheless, I'll continue. There must have been some reason, however slight, but even the naked truth, again given capital letters N and T, busy ransacking the Earth's wardrobe won't be trade. So the naked truth suggests again some great ideal original truth. That's why it's got those NTs. It is unspoiled.

It is kind of perfect. But it's busy ransacking the earth's wardrobe, so it is unadorned truth, it is naked truth, but it seems to seek adornment, it seeks colour and individuality and warmth, because that's what's lacking in the sleepy gardens, isn't it? There seems to be a suggestion here that the ideal being wouldn't mind being a bit less ideal and naked truth wouldn't mind being a bit less naked it wouldn't mind a few ambiguities and complications. Oh it needs a poet doesn't it? So it's busy ransacking the Earth's wardrobe.

It's trying to make itself more human. You see that section where we looked at wisdom, harmony, beauty and good, and they were all a bit spoiled by being down here, but they were spoiled in the eyes of the speaker. But as readers, we don't feel that. As I said, we liked wisdom battling on with the thorn in its heel. We liked the wildness of nature and its roiling waters. We liked the strangeness of the unappealing entrails. And we don't mind a bit of shadow on our good, otherwise it's a bit dull. I think the poem is partly about the glory of shortfall, the sort of fabulously human reductions,

the unabstracting of all these ideasas and we as human beings I think are less attracted to classical to the ordered and the coldly Perfect and I think the poet is telling us that even though the speaker is telling us something Exactly opposite we come to the last stanza. Not to mention Plato, those appalling poets, litter scattered by the breeze from under statues, scraps from great silence up on high dot dot dot it ends oh why does it end like that as if to continue so not to mention Plato those appalling poets the first time we realize I think that Plato is the addressee of this poem that Plato is being asked why ideal being is attracted to the low lives and if you are a student of Plato in some way you would feel a bit let

down by all this and tempted to go to the teacher and ask what's going on so not to mention Plato those those appalling poets. I should say, you may know it, but I'll say it anyway, Plato wrote something called the Republic, in which he mooted the idea of it as ideal a republic on Earth as you could get in our reduced state, and it would be run by philosophers. They would govern it.

And when he goes through what would be in the Republican one, wouldn't poets don't make it? The problem with poets, well, there are several as far as Plato sees it. One is that they dig a bit too deep into those entrails. I mean, not literally. But they talk about things that maybe aren't helpful to an ordered society. They go investigating where perhaps it's better if they didn't investigate

because Plato feels that your average person can't deal with these big difficult concepts and might misunderstand them. For example, when the poets talk about the gods, when they write about the gods in ancient Greece, they often show them to be spiteful, very sexually motivated, etc. etc. and Plato thinks that's sort of bad press for the gods and set in a bad example he's also a big thing against the poets is this idea of mimesis and mimesis is like imitation and You'll remember earlier in the poem that the speaker

asked what use could it have for imitators. Now imitators because on earth everything is an imitation and a poor imitation of that which exists in the state of ideal being but the poet he makes even worse because They are doing Imitations of the imitation so they are writing about the shadows Whereas the philosophers are trying to reach directly to the truth So it describes the poets as thrice removed from the truth. So there's the truth and then there's the shabby imitation of the truth on earth.

And then there's the poetry, which is an imitation of the shabby imitation. Hence the poet is thrice removed. So he doesn't want poets in the Republic. So the speaker now is joining in with that, not to mention Plato, those appalling poets. Litter scattered by the breeze from under statues. So they are, the poets are litter, scattered by the breeze from under statues. I should say that Plato points out that all of the arts are imitations of the imitation.

So they are all acts of mimesis. They are all looking at the shadows and then giving a representation of that. I think he's more worried about poetry because of its use of words and the fact that words are something that can be used much more easily to lead the witness as it was to influence people to put ideas in people's head. He's not sure about art generally but poetry he really isn't sure about. But I think the fact that the poets are litter scattered by the breeze from under statues

points out that it's an even lesser thing than that form of imitation, statuary. I also think that that litter, you can't get around the fact that that sounds like poetry, doesn't it? It sounds like the stuff that poetry is written on. And you can imagine scraps of poetry scattered by the breeze from under statues. And the last line, scraps from that great silence, up on high. We don't quite see that coming. That seems to suggest

that this poetry is scraps from that great silence up on high. You guessed it, silence has got a capital S. So there does seem to be some contact with those eternal truths in poetry. It might be scraps, as the speaker puts it, but he's sort of betraying the fact, almost accidentally, that they are somehow in touch with the great silence up on high. And the great truths might be in the form of scraps, but the poets with their sort of lowly status, it makes their expression of those truths more human, more accessible, more full of life. So the shortfall which seems to appall the speaker of the poem and appall Plato is just a richer expression of that truth. Naked truth made more interesting by the adornment of the poet running alongside the speaker has tripped him up at the end and has made him admit that the poets themselves and their poetry contain

scraps from that great silence up on high. I sort of feel is saying that poetry is profoundly human but it is shot through with scraps as Zimborska is putting it of the eternal. So poets are a bit like those ancient shaman who are looking at the unappealing entrails you know looking and looking for truths in there looking inside rather looking at some outside ungraspable ideal and throughout this poem the speaker fights the attraction of the earthly why ideal being which after all is the speaker's great idea of perfection, it just can't leave the earthly alone. It's seeking thrills in the bad company of matter wherever we look. So I think the whole poem is saying that philosophy tries to find truth

by reaching above humanity to some great abstract ideal, while poetry feels that the truth is within humanity, that the shortfall is where we find the real good stuff. stuff and yes Zimborska is a poet so she's a bit biased but let's face it we're all on her side in this one yeah so that's what I think that's about anyway on to the next poem and it is called SOME-LIKE POETRY. SOME-LIKE POETRY is three stanzas and the first one begins SOME dash, the second one begins LIKE dash and the third one begins POETRY dash. In other words the title SOME-LIKE POETRY is dissected in three stanzas. Each word gets a stanza all to itself.

Again, you have to decide, of course, the voice of the speaker and their view on poetry. So here goes. Here's the first stanza of Somelike poetry by Zimborski. Som, I'm going to say the hyphen, why not? Som hyphen, thus not all, not even the majority of all, but the minority, not counting schools where one has to, and the poets themselves, there might be two people per thousand.

So there you have the analysis of the first word, SOME. And it is basically a sort of brutal translation of that SOME into DATA, if you like. SOME hyphen, thus not all all so that's the first not back. SOM like poetry oh that sounds okay so not all okay okay not all not even the majority of all but the minority so she's saying SOM or the speaker is saying SOM as you wouldn't say that if it was the majority. Some like poetry sounding quite optimistic suddenly starting to crumble now in this speaker's hands. Some, thus not all, not even the majority of all, but the minority.

Not counting schools where one has to, and the poets poets themselves there might be two people per thousand. So that's where we've gone with that. Some, thus not all, so not everybody, not even the majority of all but the minority, so yet a few people not counting schools where one has to, so you can't even count poetry you read at school because you don't have any choice And the poets themselves obviously they read poetry Because and they like poetry because they are poets It would be odd to be a poet if you didn't like at least some poetry It also suggests there I think

there's a bit of vanity, a bit of in-crowd, a bit of the lure of the obscure taste maybe in those poets who are seeking this minority activity and actually practicing it. There might be two people per thousand, so that's what the first stanza arrives at. So that sum has gone in the course of those few lines of the first stanza. It's gone from not all, not even the majority, but the minority.

So it's dropping all the time. And then you have to take out the school thing and poets not counting schools Where one has to and the poets themselves? finally arriving There might be two people per thousand suddenly some like poetry feels like most hate poetry and It's interesting that I'm no mathematician, but there might be two people per thousand.

Weren't we told to get it down to the lowest common denominator? So what you should say there is one person in 500. But I think the speaker here wants there to be two because it's us and them and it puts the poet and the reader in a select little coterie in this two people in a thousand. We were sounding irrelevant and now we're sounding actually quite special. Me and the poet. Two people per thousand. Okay next stanza. Like now gets the same treatment. Like hyphen but one also likes chicken soup with noodles, one likes compliments and the colour blue, one likes an old scarf, one likes having the upper hand, one likes stroking a dog. So a list of other things one might like, other examples of using the word like and

again some got really bashed about in the first stanza. And now like, that was quite a positive thing. Some like poetry, but now is like such a good thing. I should say, by the way, that this particular version of some poetry I'm using is translated by Regina Grohl. One also likes chicken soup with noodles, one likes compliments and the color blue, one likes an old scarf, one likes having the upper hand, one likes stroking a dog. These all seem so disparate, it feels like it's possible to

like anything. I mean if we wanted to look a bit closer, one likes chicken soup with noodles. Yeah that's sort of indulgent, which might also be said of the liking of poetry. There's also sustenance in that sense of tradition, chicken soup with noodles. And also I think special healing powers are suggested. Everyone knows that thing about what you need is some chicken soup. I wonder if that is saying a sort of random like, but suggesting some good reasons for like in poetry.

Indulgence, why not? Sensitive edition, sustenance and magic. One likes compliments and the colour blue. Maybe the compliments thing fits in with that vanity because all of this is making us feel like we're part of a little special in crowd even though poetry seems to be getting slapping. We quite like, and we do quite like, don't we, that it's not that popular. When I somehow enjoy the look people give me when I say I do a poetry podcast, that look of, that's weird, that look of, oh, I don't fancy that at all.

Those should be things that upset me, but they make me feel like I've been raised high on their shoulders and paraded around Wembley Stadium. One likes compliments and the colour blue. Colour blue an abstract and personal thing and poetry can be like that I guess. Compliments, yeah maybe if you like compliments you like poetry because to like poetry feels like a sort of a compliment based on intellect and understanding and uniqueness and specialness and encrodeness. One likes an old scarf, yes the familiar, the cosy, I like that kind of poetry. One likes having the upper hand. Now interestingly there is another translation I've read of this poem by the translators of Plato or why that I mentioned earlier, Claire Kavernack and Stanislaw Borancsak.

And in theirs they say not one likes having the upper hand, but one likes having your own way. And I wonder if one of the joys of poetry and why people like it is because they find themselves in it, is because they're allowed to interpret it in their own way to some extent if it's done with experience and proof in a way that you can't with prose, for example. But maybe I shouldn't jump from translation to translation, but that can be helpful. One like stroking a dog, just a sensory pleasure, and also a sense of contact, which I always get from poetry, contact with the poet. But maybe I've sort of pulled that apart but maybe it's just saying the word like is applied to all sorts of random and contradictory things but one also likes

chicken soup with noodles one likes compliments and the color blue one likes an old scarf one likes having the upper hand one likes stroking a dog. It's saying likes so much that it sort of devalues and undermines that like in the title. So some has been torn apart, like has been meant, oh people like all sorts of old rubbish, so that doesn't mean much. And now we get to the final word and the final stanza poetry hyphen but what is poetry many shaky answers have been given to this question but I don't know and don't know and hold on to it like to a sustaining grayling so what staining railing. So what is poetry? Many shaky answers.

And I suppose many shaky answers have been given to this question. We've all heard a few and there's that interesting idea said in the best way and whatever it is. And I like those things, but do any of them really say what poetry is? Cause poetry is so varied and so different anyway many shaky answers have been given to this question suggests we're not gonna get one here doesn't it not from the speaker

in this poem anyway but I don't know and don't know and I think that repetition is to suggest I don't know and I don't know and I don't know and I think that repetition is to suggest I don't know and I don't know and I don't know and I I never knew at the beginning and I still don't know and it's an ongoing process of not knowing but I don't know and don't know and hold on to it like to a sustaining sustaining railing. Now the big question I think, or a big question, is what is the it in that? Is it poetry? But I don't know and don't know and hold on to it like to a sustaining railing. So I don't know what poetry is but I still hold on to it and it still gets me through life in some way. Like holding onto railings when you, sometimes you see old people who look a bit breathless or tired and you see them holding onto railings in the street. I probably should go over and

ask if they're okay. It just occurs to me. You know, I'm thinking probably the sustaining railing is just simply a handrail, something supportive, something solid and stabilizing, something we can rely on when life gets a bit hard to negotiate. And yes, I am suggesting that poetry holds a similar place in my life. Anyway, so that's the it if it's poetry or is it the not knowing that's the it?

But I don't know and don't know and hold on to it like to a sustaining railing. The not knowing is that what keeps us going? Is that what keeps us reading poetry? Is that what keeps us liking poetry? That sense that poetry is inexhaustible. There's always something else left in there. I never ever, you might think I'd go on and on and on about poems and think oh shut up now or just switch me off, I suppose is the obvious thing. But I never leave a poem empty. I always walk away thinking, oh, there was something else in there. And sometimes weeks after months after these poetry podcasts are recorded, I read that poem again and think, oh, yes, of course course I wish I'd put that in my poetry podcast

but you can't go back as they say in heavyweight boxing. So yes, so it ends like that. I am gonna do that thing about cross-translation because the Kavanagh Boranczak version of some poetry. Instead of saying, but I don't know and don't know and hold onto it like to a sustaining railing, it says, but I just keep on not knowing. And I cling to that like a redemptive handrail. Redemptive, constantly redeeming me and redeeming life, I suppose, making things

worthwhile and better and saving the failures. But that use of that instead of it, and I like, I just keep on not knowing, but I just keep on not knowing and I cling to that then I think you're pointed very much towards the not knowing as the redemptive handrail and it doesn't sound like it means poetry I like the ambiguity of the it on this occasion I'm favoring Regina Grohl's translation, but both are sizzling. What is this saying about poetry? Some like poetry, not many people. We all celebrate that if we like poetry.

I used to like Eminem and then every gig I went to of his got bigger and bigger and bigger. And eventually Milton Keynesnes bowl crammed with people who I didn't think I wanted to be in the same Venn diagram as. I stopped liking him quite deliberately. So yeah, it's nice to be in a minority and their like can mean all sorts of things. But if you look at these seemingly random things, even like stuff like liking the colour blue or stroking a dog, they mean something and they've got reasons that are worthwhile. We don't know exactly what poetry is. I don't claim to know that.

I don't think I've claimed to know it on these podcasts. I'll have to look back. I won't. I probably have offered a few shaky answers to that question, but yes I don't know what it is and in a way I'm with the speaker on this. That not knowing is great because I just want to keep looking. I'm going to compare two poems. I don't want to be in the lovely sleepy garden with the ideal being knowing everything. I like the fact that my understanding of poetry is limping with a thorn stuck in its heel and I will continue to limp forward on your behalf. I really, really, really would recommend any English translation you can get your hands on of Vishava Zimborska's poetry. The Kavanat and Baran Shack is, I think, very good indeed

it seems to me. It's simple, it's accessible, it welcomes you in and once you're in there, mighty and wonderful things start happening. Thank you for listening to Frank Skinner's Poetry Podcast. Don't forget to follow so you never miss an episode. See you next week.