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)