A Word on Statistics

A Poem by Wislawa Szymborska
(translated from the Polish by Joanna Trzeciak)



Out of every hundred people,

Those who always know better:
fifty-two.

Unsure of every step:
almost all the rest.

Ready to help,
if doesn’t take long:
forty-nine.

Always good,
because they cannot be otherwise:
four-well, maybe five.

Able to admire without envy:
eighteen.

Led to error
by youth (which passes):
sixty, plus or minus.

Those not to be messed with:
four-and-forty.

Living in constant fear
of someone or something:
seventy-seven.

Capable of happiness
twenty-some-odd at most.

Harmless alone,
turning savage in crowds:
more than half, for sure.

Cruel
when forced by circumstances:
it’s better not to know,
not even approximately.

Wise in hindsight:
not many more
than wise in foresight.

Getting nothing out of life except things:
thirty
(although I would like to be wrong).

Balled up in pain
and without a flashlight in the dark:
eighty-three, sooner or later.

Those who are just:
quite a few, thirty-five.

But if it takes effort to understand:
three.

Worthy of empathy:
ninety-nine.

Mortal:
one hundred out of one hundred-
a figure that has never varied yet.