Try to Praise the Mutilated World

Try to praise the mutilated world.
Remember June’s long days,
and wild strawberries, drops of rose 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.

~by Adam Zagajewski (translated by Claire Cavanagh)

Another week of quarantine.  It’s not getting any easier, is it?  My motivation is flagging in basically everything I have to do – the only thing for which I can summon any enthusiasm is my Another Mother Runner “Love the Run You’re With” training series.  The rest of… well, everything… feels like a long, hard slog, and the whole world is terrifying.  I’m seeing a lot of reassuring posts on social media now, reminding everyone that we are living through a traumatic experience and we should treat ourselves with compassion.  So that’s what I’m trying to do, some days with more success than others.  And then every now and again a bit of good news peeks through the gloom – like the Himalayas being visible again, without pollution – and… yes, this world is mutilated, but we have to try to praise it.  And fix it.