LIFE WHILE YOU WAIT
Life while you wait.
Performance without rehearsal.
Body without fitting.
Head without reflection.
I don't know the role I'm playing.
I only know it's mine, non-convertible.
What the play is about
I must guess only after it's begun.
Poorly prepared for the dignity of life,
I barely keep up with the pace of the action imposed.
I improvise, though I loathe improvisation.
At every step I stumble over my lack of expertise.
My way of life smacks of provincialism.
My instincts are those of a rank amateur.
Stage, fright, although an excuse, is all the more humiliating.
Extenuating circumstances I perceive as cruel.
Not to be retracted are words and reflexes,
unfinished is the count of stars,
character buttoned up on the run like an overcoat-
these are the pitiful results of such haste.
If only one Wednesday could be practiced ahead of time,
or if only one Thursday could again be repeated!
But here it is nearly Friday, with a scenario I don't know.
Is it fair- i ask
(with hoarseness in my voice,
because I wasn't even allowed to clear my throat in the wings).
Wisława Szymborska
