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.
—Adam Zagajewski
My friend Kari posted this poem last week, and that night, I came across it in the last section of Caroline Kennedy’s lovely poetry anthology She Walks in Beauty. Then it showed up in Shelf Awareness on Friday, as all of Boston waited with bated breath for the police to catch the second bombing suspect. I have been thinking about it ever since, as I move through this world we live in, so beautiful and yet so broken.
Life is, mostly, back to “business as usual” in Boston. This is a tough town, as the new city motto – Boston Strong – indicates. It will take more than a bombing to put it off-kilter for long. But alongside the displays of strength and courage, the grief lingers.
On Monday afternoon, I gathered with colleagues in the small garden next to our building for a moment of silence, as many others across the city did the same. Our dean read the names of the fallen, and then we all stood still and silent as the church bells began to ring. Above us, the sun skittered in and out of the clouds as we stood huddled in our coats. The weight of our grief was palpable. And yet I felt profoundly grateful to be there, sharing this moment with my community.
Our world is beautiful, and it is broken. We cannot always prevent or heal the brokenness, but I believe we can find solace in praise.
cakes, tea and dreams 
This very poem has been in my mind for the last few days, too. Oh, so beautiful. And oh, so broken. xoxo
What a wonderful post, so poignant and brave. Thank you. Isn’t is funny how poems do that, they inveigle their way in at the right time for the right reasons, and suddenly they are highly visible – or not exactly visible – but “felt”
A beautiful tribute and a fitting poem that I will be remembering long after this day passes. Thank you for this lovely post.