The poem begins a shift from the conceptual to the concrete in the third stanza with the mention of specific kisses. Sure, "No day copies yesterday" is a valid and valuable line, but for the line and idea behind it to have the greatest impact an individualized emotion connection needs to be established. By inserting the word "precisely" in front of kisses, Szymborska dares you to flip through your catalogue of kisses and pull out some of those fun , sensual, surprising, and even embarrassing ones.
These are the moments that have made you who you are today, because no two were "precisely" alike you begin to see the parallel that she is attempting to convey about days.
If the kiss isn't enough, Szymborska presents the example of an "idle tongue" that "mentions your name by accident. The mere accidental mention of her love's name fills her with the beauty of a rose, "all hue and scent. It's a jarring shift, but highly effective in reminding us that time is unrelenting and carries on with the same "precision" that we earlier saw attached to the far more attractive feature of kisses.
In the final two stanzas Szymborska returns to the style and tone that made the beginning of the poem so strong. She supplies a rhetorical question about fear of time, which fits nicely on the heels of the shift of the previous stanza. At this point in the poem, I need a stronger ending; thank goodness there is one stanza left!
Up to this point most of the poem has focused on the nature of time and our reaction to it, showing how no two days are the same so we must live them fully. This is a great message, but to reiterate this again would steer the poem into a predictable zone that the poem wouldn't be able to recover from. Instead of cruising, Szymborska opts for the bumpy path and this change-of-direction works like a charm.
We are the ones on display in the final stanza, our nature is examined and the ultimate similarity is revealed: just as each day, each moment is different than the next, we, too, possess this same level of uniqueness. I am unlike any other human being who has ever existed, who currently exists, and who will ever exist.
When you take this individuality and combine it with the same individuality of days in our lives then you see the pristine opportunities we have before us in pretty much every moment we are alive.
It's a shame we waste so many of these moments with the stupid fallacy of operating under what others think of us. Nothing Twice - Wislawa Szymborska Nothing can ever happen twice. In consequence, the sorry fact is that we arrive here improvised and leave without the chance to practice. Which one is smiling with two smiles? Whose voice forms a two-part canon? When both heads nod, which one agrees?
Whose gesture lifts the teaspoon to their lips? Which one lives and which has died entangled in the lines of whose palm? Familiarity breeds the most perfect of mothers— it favors neither of the little darlings, it scarcely can recall which one is which. On this festive day, their golden anniversary, a dove, seen identically, perched on the windowsill. Such certainty is beautiful, but uncertainty is more beautiful still. Not quite ready yet to become their Destiny, it pushed them close, drove them apart, it barred their path, stifling a laugh, and then leaped aside.
Perhaps three years ago or just last Tuesday a certain leaf fluttered from one shoulder to another? Something was dropped and then picked up. There were doorknobs and doorbells where one touch had covered another beforehand. Suitcases checked and standing side by side. One night, perhaps, the same dream, grown hazy by morning. Every beginning is only a sequel, after all, and the book of events is always open halfway through.
National Poetry Month. Materials for Teachers Teach This Poem. Poems for Kids. One day, perhaps some idle tongue mentions your name by accident: I feel as if a rose were flung into the room, all hue and scent. The next day, though you're here with me, I can't help looking at the clock: A rose?
A rose? What could that be?
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