EDWARD HIRSCH
And in whatever language I would hea r
The song of a child , th e conversati on o f lovers.
Happier th an anyone, I Jm to receive
A glance, a smile, a sta r, sil k creased
At th e kn ee. Serene, beho lding,
I am to wa lk on hills in th e soft gl ow of day
O ver wa ters, cities, roads, humJn customs.
Fire, power, mi ght, yo u who hold me
In th e palm o f your hand whose furrows
Are like immense go rges combed
By south ern wind. Yo u who grant certain ty
In th e ho ur of fea r, in th e wee k o f doubt,
It is too ea rl y, le t th e wine mature,
Let th e travelers sleep in Mittclbergheim .
75
Adam Zagajewski :
Thi s poem is dedi cJted to yo u , Czeslaw, and [' m happy
to
read toge th er w ith m y fi-i e nd w ho invited m e
to
H o usto n ten years ago
and saved m e fi-om starv in g in Pari s. Thi s is an am azing gath ering w ith
poets and fri ends fro m diffe rc llt stages o f m y life, and w ith Adam Mi chnik,
to
whom I d edi c:1 ted the poem I will read. It's call ed " Li ghtning." It's
from
Ii-elll or,
m y first colle cti o n in Engli sh.
We li ved unders tanding Ii ttlc and crav ing
kn owledge. As plants do, when th ey grow towa rd
li ght, we sought justi ce
and we found it only in th e plants,
in th e leaves of th e horse ches tnut, enormous
as obl ivio n, in th e fer n shr ubs whi ch swayed
slowly and made no promi ses.
In sil ence. In mu sic. In a poem . We sought
justice, confi.l sing it with bea uty.
Emoti on is governed by stri ct laws.
We turn ed our bac ks o n cru elty
and boredom . There's no soluti o n, th at mu ch
we kn ew, there arc onl y fragments, and th e fact th at
we spoke in complete se iltences seemed to us
a strange j oke. How easy it was to hate
a poli ceman. Even hi s face seemed to us
a part of hi s uni fo rm . The er rors of oth ers
were easy to detect. On a hot day, th e rive r
refl ected mo untain s, clo uds. Life th en was
round like a ball oon when it gets going.
Spruces stood still , filled with shadows
and stilln ess like th e depths of an ocea n. G ree n
