#Zagajewski

[unofficialchronicle]

Adam Zagajewski was a Polish poet, novelist, translator, and essayist. Adam Zagajewski was born in 1945 in Lwów (now Lviv, Ukraine). He studied psychology and philosophy at the Jagiellonian University in Kraków. He was awarded the 2004 Neustadt International Prize for Literature, the 2016 Griffin Poetry Prize Lifetime Recognition Award, the 2017 Princess of Asturias Award for Literature, and the 2018 Golden Wreath of Poetry at the Struga Poetry Evenings among other awards. He died at age 75 in Kraków, Poland.

Adam Zagajewski

[heart-songs]

ODE TO SOFTNESS

Mornings are blind as newborn cats. Fingernails grow so trustfully, for a while they don’t know what they’re going to touch. Dreams are soft, and tenderness looms over us like a fog, the cathedral bell of Krakow before it cooled.

- Adam Zagajewski, Tremor

[gennsoup]

But now the rain falls silent, the gardens resume their chanting. They sing from the depths of their brimming green hearts, arbors and trees, the core of their leaves.

Adam Zagajewski, The Creation of the World

[havingapoemwithyou]

a flame by Adam Zagajewski

[apoemaday]

Try to Praise the Mutilated World

by Adam Zagajewski tr. Clare Cavanagh

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.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Adam Zagajewski always reminds me I can never ever forget that I’m human

[fuoridalcloro]

L'attimo

Un attimo di chiarezza dura così poco. L’oscurità resta più a lungo. Vi sono più oceani che terraferma. Più ombra che forma.

-Adam Zagajewski-

[ma-pi-ma]

Un gatto nero esce per salutarci

come per dire, guarda me

e non qualche vecchia chiesa romanica.

Io sono vivo.

Adam Zagajewski

[cosechadehuellas]

La pintura es el arte de los sedentarios que se complacen en la contemplación de la tierra natal. Los retratos afianzan a los sedentarios en la convicción de que sólo si pueden ser vistos viven de veras. Únicamente los bodegones, y no todos, dejan al descubierto la indiferencia total y absoluta de las cosas, su cinismo y su falta de patriotismo provinciano. Los jarros pintados por Morandi no tienen nada que ver con Bolonia: son frágiles, esbeltos y llenos de aire. En los cuadros de Vermeer, los interiores pertenecen a Delft, pero las ventanas se abren hacia la nada, es decir, hacia la luz. En cambio, la poesía encaja con los emigrantes, aquellos desdichados que, con un patrimonio ridículo, se balancean al borde del abismo, a caballo entre generaciones, a caballo entre continentes. A veces, mueven los labios. Algunos mascullan los peores reniegos, y otros, estrofas de una poesía.

_ Adam Zagajewski, "Dos ciudades". Editorial Acantilado. Traducción: Jerzy Sławomirski & Anna Rubió

Fotograma de "La Notte", Michelangelo Antonioni 1961. En la pared, detrás de Marcello Mastroianni, una obra de Giorgio Morandi

[dk-thrive]

God, give us a long winter and quiet music, and patient mouths, and a little pride -- before our age ends. Give us astonishment and a flame, high, bright.

— Adam Zagajewski, from "Frame" in "Without End: New and Selected Poems". (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, Feb 10, 2002) (via Last Tambourine)

[victusinveritas]

Adam Zagajewski , "Try to Praise the Mutilated World."

[gennsoup]

At first only cherries and the comic flight of bats, the apple moon, a drowsy owl, the tang of icy water on school outings. The city's towers rise like words of love.

Adam Zagajewski, Farewell for Zbigniew Herbert

[riverbird]

"How much patience it takes to bear the slow duration of life. The small eternities in which we bathe like sparrows in puddles do not add up. Someone drinks cocoa from a porcelain cup, and two hundred yards away an innocent man perishes." Adam Zagajewski, Two Cities: On Exile, History, and the Imagination

[apesoformythoughts]

“Try to praise the mutilated world. Remember June's long days, and wild strawberries, drops of rosé wine. 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 going 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 gray feather a thrush lost, and the gentle light that strays and vanishes and returns.”

— Adam Zagajewski: “Try to Praise the Mutilated World” [transl. Clare Cavanagh]

[lascitasdelashoras]

Adam Zagajewski por Anna Czabanowska-Wróbel

[lunamarish]

L'attimo

Un attimo di chiarezza dura così poco. L’oscurità resta più a lungo. Vi sono più oceani che terraferma. Più ombra che forma.

Adam Zagajewski