Szymborska’s 90 Percent Rule

The Nobel prize–winning poet tossed most of her poems. How ruthless are you willing to be?

Photo by Steve Johnson on Unsplash

During this semi-normalizing time, I have joyfully returned to my old habit of looking for odd books in the “new” shelves at the library. This week I found How to Start Writing (and When to Stop): Advice for Authors, a collection of advice columns by the late Polish poet Wisława Szymborska, translated by Clare Cavanagh. 

Side note: Cavanagh is also the translator for Adam Zagajewski, a tremendous poet and writer whom we sadly lost last year. So many of his poems, especially “To Go to Lvov,” have lately been on my mind. 

I once sat with other American and Polish writing students around an old wooden table at the university in Krakow listening to Zagajewski and Cavanagh discuss translation. Jorie Graham, Philip Levine, Tony Hoagland, Edward Hirsch, and other poets were at that table, too. Now this seems like an impossible dream. But, I digress. 

I was at that table because I had fallen in love with the wit and directness—the unsparingness—of Polish writers, Szymborska and Zagajewski in particular. Knowing how precise Szymborska was in her poems, it should have been no surprise to learn in How to Start Writing that she was absolutely ruthless about the poems she chose to publish. 

From inspiration to … trash bin

In the intro, Cavanagh says, “[Szymborska’s] favorite writing utensil … was the wastepaper basket: she threw away at least ninety percent of what she wrote.”

Ninety percent—I had to pause there. Am I anywhere near as ruthless? Probably not. When I consider the poems I’ve written over the last few years, how many of those I am gathering in my latest manuscript, I figure I’ve discarded six or seven out of every ten poems. 

I laughed out loud at Szymborska’s advice—laughed because it is so witty and laughed nervously because it is so harsh:

“From the verses you’ve sent we conclude you are in love. Someone said that every lover is a poet. This is an overstatement. We wish you success in your personal life.”

“Should you keep writing? We’re sure the harshest edict could not block your flights of fancy. Carry on.”

“Authors are not required to provide nature descriptions. If you don’t have anything new to add, just leave out the moonlight glistening on the water.”

“‘Fatherland,’ ‘truth,’ ‘freedom,’ ‘justice’: such words don’t come cheap. Real blood flows in them, which ink can’t counterfeit. Best let them sit until you’ve given them some thought.”

“As a little girl, did you like rhymes about model children who always did everything right? We did not, scowled when forced to recite such lines. We preferred poems about less perfect children, even brats.”

“Passion for the human foot won’t make a decent cobbler of you. You must also know the leather, the tools, the patterns, and so on. Artistic creation demands no less.”

“All of us get inspired at times, but only the truly talented spend long hours over a piece of paper struggling to improve the muse’s dictates. Those unwilling to take on such labors have no place in poetry.”

Is Szymborska too harsh?

The truth is that we've all written atrocious poems. Lots of them. After decades of writing, a good number of my poems still struggle and flop. Am I willing to be as ruthless as Szymborska? A little. Maybe more than when I was younger. I hope.

Here’s another thought: Perhaps it isn’t just ruthlessness. There is some freedom in this approach. Imagine the relief of deciding 90 percent of your work could be simply let go—or composted. (I like the compost bin approach better than the trash, personally.) 

What do you think: What percentage of your poems do you discard? What helps you know what to compost? Is Szymborska too harsh? Add your thoughts in the comments.