Try to Praise the Mutilated World
Try to praise the mutilated world. Remember June's long days, and wild strawberries, drops of wine, the dew. The nettles that methodically overgrow the abandoned homesteads of exiles. You must praise the mutilated world. You watched the stylish yachts and ships; one of them had a long trip ahead of it, while salty oblivion awaited others. You've seen the refugees heading nowhere, you've heard the executioners sing joyfully. You should praise the mutilated world. Remember the moments when we were together in a white room and the curtain fluttered. Return in thought to the concert where music flared. You gathered acorns in the park in autumn and leaves eddied over the earth's scars. Praise the mutilated world and the grey feather a thrush lost, and the gentle light that strays and vanishes and returns.
-- Adam Zagajewski
(thank you, lizisilver, for reminding me of this magnificent poem)
The language of poetry does not come naturally to me and it is so good to have you there to show me, to make me slow down and use my mind's eye to read it.
ReplyDeleteOh Elizabeth, i feel as if this poem appeared just for me today. It is indeed magnificent. Ah.
ReplyDeleteA perfect companion poem to Edna St. Vincent Millay's "Oh world..."
ReplyDeleteThank you for the reminder. And I'm with Ms. Moon. I don't read poetry very often - unless you've shared it. Thanks.
ReplyDeleteOh how I love this poem. This is exactly what I was doing when you posted it. oh how I love irony.
ReplyDelete