I remember how this poem was passed around from person to person during 9/11. It was profoundly moving and apt (it still is), and I remember how thankful I was that poetry exists (I still am). Try to Praise the Mutilated
Woke up and smelled lavender. Is that you, Lolo? I suddenly remembered this poem, and oh, my heart. How I always find parts of my life tucked in poems, I'll never know. My Aunts Adam Zagajewski Translated by Clare Cavanagh Always caught up in
What a lovely, lovely thing to read today. Balance Adam Zagajewski Translated by Clare Cavanagh I watched the arctic landscape from above and thought of nothing, lovely nothing. I observed white canopies of clouds, vast expanses where no wolf tracks could be found. I thought about you and
A friend has dared me to write a poem about myself. It's unthinkable, is my first reaction. I'm not very good at this kind of introspection. Self-Portrait Adam Zagajewski Translated by Clare Cavanagh Between the computer, a pencil, and a typewriter half my day passes.