Sunday, March 21, 2021

Without End by Adam Zagajewski

Without End

Also in death we are going to live,
only in a different way, delicately, softly,
dissolved in music;
one by one called out to the corridor,
lonely and yet in a group,
like schoolmates from the same class
which extends beyond the Ural Mountains
and reaches the Quaternary. Released
from unending conversation on politics,
open and candid, at ease, even though
shutters are being closed with a bang
 and hail will rattle on the windowsill
in Turkish march, dashing,
as usual. The world of appearances won’t fade away
at once, for a long time it will continue
to grumble and curl like a wet
page thrown into the fire. The quest for perfection
will find fulfillment casually, it will bypass
all obstacles just as the Germans
learned how to bypass the Maginot Line. Paltry
things, forgotten, kites made of the thinnest
paper, brittle leaves from past autumns,
will recover their immortal dignity and the systems,
big and victorious, will wither like a giant’s sex.
No longing anymore. It will overtake
itself, amazed that it chased for so long
its erotic shadow. And we will be no more,
not having learned yet
how to live at such an altitude.
(Translated by Clare Cavanagh)

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