Always caught up in what they called the practical side of life (theory was for Plato), up to their elbows in furniture, in bedding, in cupboards and kitchen gardens, they never neglected the lavender sachets that turned a linen closet to a meadow. The practical side of life, like the Moon's unlighted face, didn't lack for mysteries; when Christmastime drew near, life became pure praxis and resided temporarily in hallways, took refuge in suitcases and satchels. And when somebody died--it happened even in our family, alas-- my aunts, preoccupied with death's practical side, forgot at last about the lavender, whose frantic scent bloomed selflessly beneath a heavy snow of sheets. Don't just do something, sit there. And so I have, so I have, the seasons curling around me like smoke, Gone to the end of the earth and back without sound.
Excerpted from Without End: New and Selected Poems by Adam Zagajewski. Translated by Clare Cavanaugh, Renata Gorczynski, Benjamin Ivry, and C. K. Williams. This poem is translated by Clare Cavanagh. Published by Farrar, Straus, and Giroux. Copyright © 2002 by Adam Zagajewski. All rights reserved.
Date Published: 2002-01-01
Source URL: https://poets.org/poem/my-aunts