Not tall, head like a bullet,
you compose a new book
and a strange energy hovers around you.
Your thoughts parade
like enormous armies.
You know now that Anne Frank died,
and her classmates and friends, boys, girls,
and friends of her friends, and cousins
and friends of her cousins.
What are words, I want to ask you, what
is clarity and why do words keep burning
a century later, though the earth
weighs so much?
Clearly nothing links enlightenment
and the dark pain of cruelty.
At least two kingdoms exist,
if not more.
But if there’s no God and no force
welds elements in repulsion,
then what are words really, and from whence
does their inner light come?
And from where does joy come, and where
does nothingness go? Where is forgiveness?
Why do the incidental dreams vanish at dawn and the
great ones keep growing?
(Adam Zagajewski; Translated by Renata Gorczynski)
See Mockingbird, 7/13/17 https://mbird.com/poetry/a-talk-with-friedrich-nietzsche-adam-zagajewski/
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Author: The Best American Poetry
