The End and the
Beginning
After every war
someone
has to tidy up.
Things won't pick
themselves up, after all.
Someone has to shove
the
rubble to the roadsides
so the carts loaded with corpses
can get
by.
Someone has to
trudge
through sludge and ashes,
through the sofa springs,
the shards
of glass,
the bloody rags.
Someone has to lug the post
to prop the wall,
someone has to glaze the window,
set the door in its
frame.
No sound bites, no photo
opportunities,
and it takes years.
All the cameras have gone
to other
wars.
The bridges need to be
rebuilt,
the railroad stations, too.
Shirtsleeves will be rolled
to
shreds.
Someone, broom in
hand,
still remembers how it was.
Someone else listens, nodding
his
unshattered head.
But others are bound to be
bustling nearby
who'll find all that
a little boring.
From time to time someone
still must
dig up a rusted argument
from underneath a bush
and haul it
off to the dump.
Those who knew
what this
was all about
must make way for those
who know little.
And less than
that.
And at last nothing less than nothing.
Someone has to lie
there
in the grass that covers up
the causes and effects
with a
cornstalk in his teeth,
gawking at clouds.
~ Wislawa Szymborska
~
(View With a Grain of Sand,
translated by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh)
(left button to play, right button
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