Konstanty Ildefons Gałczyński
WHY DOES THE PICKLE NEVER SING
The question that our title has cast in deathless bronze is painful yet so vital, we owe it a response.
If our little green friend won't sing, croon, lilt or chant, it's clear that, Heaven forfend, it most probably can't.
But what if evil stars trample its throat? If divine airs die in air-tight jars, engulfed by teary brine?
Meanwhile, time flies, alas first sunshine, then rains trickle, and still we callously pass by many a pained pickle.
1953
[Translated by S. Barańczak and C. Cavanagh]
🥒 🥒 🥒 🥒 🥒 🥒 🥒 🥒
1947













