Try to Praise the Mutilated World

The Polish poet Adam Zagajewski is in residence at writing camp (aka the Vermont Studio Center).  He is funny and erudite at the place those two converge.  We are all here for a few more days.

Here is his poem that was printed on the back page of the New Yorker the first week after 9/11:

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. 

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If you want to get a book of his poems, Without End is the title of the 'new and collected' volume.