A BIRD SINGS IN THE EVENING

TO LILLIE ROBERTSON

Above the vast city, plunged in darkness,
breathing slowly, as if its earth were scorched,
you, who sang once for Homer
and for Cromwell, maybe even
over Joan of Arc's gray ashes,
you raise your sweet lament again,
your bright keening; no one hears you,
only in the lilac's black leaves, where
unseen artists hide,
a nightingale stirred, a little envious.
No one hears you, the city is in mourning
for its splendid days, days of greatness, when it too could grieve
in an almost human voice.

 

POETRY SEARCHES FOR RADIANCE

 

Poetry searches for radiance,
poetry is the kingly road
that leads us farthest.
We seek radiance in a gray hour,
at noon or in the chimneys of the dawn,
even on a bus, in November,
while an old priest nods beside us.

The waiter in a Chinese restaurant bursts into tears
and no one can think why.
Who knows, this may also be a quest,
like that moment at the seashore,
when a predatory ship appeared on the horizon
and stopped short, held still for a long while.
And also moments of deep joy

and countless moments of anxiety.
Let me see, I ask.
Let me persist, I say.
A cold rain falls at night.
In the streets and avenues of my city
quiet darkness is hard at work.
Poetry searches for radiance. 

Adam Zagajewski