he became a poet and tumbled
into the labyrinth of God
he sought a way out in language
but language has no way out
he sought more zealously
than any
other Polish poet
then he tried to flee from life
seeking shelter in poetry
but from the labyrinth of life there is
no way out (except via death)
the leśmianek shrank out of despair
and faded away till he died
as an unearthly notary
somewhere in Zamość Hrubieszów
and Częstochowa
as a reward for his unavailing faith
he was transformed
by the radiant god
of poets
into a garden gnome
in a cap of invisibility
with a runny nose
beneath a broad viburnum leaf
he waits for the end of the world
the end of history
the end of the end
but the world refuses
to end
[January–February 2003]
Ashurbanipal killing a wounded lion
it is an unutterably beautiful
bas-relief
–From the Palace of Ashurbanipal at Nineveh–
what dignity and mutual respect there was
in encounters between beasts and humans
before firearms were invented
I always stand hushed
before this scene
the king of the beasts
and the king of slaves
in a mortal embrace
Calm on the face
of Ashurbanipal
a grimace of pain and rage
on the lion’s muzzle hidden in its mane
the King’s beard artfully dressed
his face saying I am the king of the world
king of beasts and humans
king of earth water air
king of kings
the sword transfixes the animal
the lion pierced by fletched
arrows
the king clad in a robe
and plates of armor
locked in their mortal embrace
they remain distant
Their encounter will be won by the side
that wielded the sword
the lance the bow
extensions of the arm
technology
intelligence or in other words
subterfuge
perhaps that is why the lion
is condemned
to perish
while the human species
has filled the earth
eternal return . . .
Nietzsche is back in fashion
he’s returning to Germany (and Poland)
indirectly
via Paris
in the guise of a French philosopher
of Romanian extraction
this Zarathustra of Naumburg
part Polish gentleman
part Übermensch
asks himself
his mother
his sister
why am I so wise
bold unique crucified
don’t trouble your head over it
counsels his mother
concentrate on those Greeks of yours
or compose something
His sister “liebes Lama”
is just back from South America
she’s a little anxious but proud
that her brother stands straight
and looks like a soldier (“fast”)
“auch Magen und Unterlieb in Ordnung”
Fritz left for the train station
carrying flowers but without the big sword
that he took to the photographer’s
and to the war (as a stretcher bearer)
then as befits an eagle
he sought out an eyrie
in Genoa and environs
“sono contento”
he wrote home
the good residents of Genoa
call him “il piccolo santo”
“il santo”
has regretfully given up
the notion of eternal return
he makes himself risotto macaroni
(without onion or garlic)
tomatoes artichokes with egg
diet is the essence of philosophy
what one eats is expelled
in the form of thought
“die ewige Wiederkunft”
he asked his mother what
“ordinary” “simple” people eat
what our poor eat
“solitary Nietzsche”
did not know “simple” people
had not encountered poverty
our people
dear Fritz
from morning to night eat potatoes
fatty meat
pigmeat
wash it down with schnapps
and drink a catlap
they call coffee
oh! Mama
just an endless round of pork
potatoes catlap
sauerkraut?
how little I know our nation
I’ve always eaten alone
but it’s all the fault
of the Social Democratic leaders
Mama...
a man ought to be
brought up for a soldier
a woman for a soldier’s wife
with tears in his eyes
he parted company with the idea
of eternal return
understanding
that eternal returns to Naumburg
are nothing special
the climate was “wrong” and the food
and the neighbors
and his sister Lama and his mother
however dear she was . . .
and his aunts!
can an eagle have aunts?
even if they’re kind and affectionate
“das Meer liegt bleich
und glänzend da
es kann nicht reden”
philosophers
“Das Wesen der Wahrheit
Ist die Freiheit”
wrote Martin Heidegger
in 1930
then he joined
the Nazi party
“Hampelmann der Nazis”
he was called
by the righteous among philosophers
Karl Jaspers
but he too was wrong
when he told Hannah Arendt
who was frightened by Hitler’s victory
“Das Ganze ist eine Operette
Ich will kein Held in einer Operette sein”
H. A. emigrated . . .
and he and Gertrude
his Jewish wife
realized
that this was no operetta
a crystal night fell
on Germany and on Europe
the starry sky dimmed
the moral law died
what Aquinas saw
a note in the margin
of an article by Father Tadeusz Bartoś
“The Curious World
of Thomas Aquinas”
on December 6 1273
during mass he has an experience
that makes him give up writing
“I cannot write any longer,
I have seen things next to which
all my writings are as straw”
What did Aquinas see?
“I have seen things” he said
and stopped speaking
what things?
Aquinas did not understand
women children or art
–so they say–maybe he was afraid
maybe he didn’t want to understand
“I have seen things”
maybe he saw a woman angel
giving birth to a child
a god
and redeemer
maybe he saw God
the Father and the Mother
maybe he saw
a woman priest
smiling at him
flirtatiously
maybe he saw his own
conception and birth
and understood that woman
is not a mistake of nature
but is nature itself
through Aristotle I feel
a certain indistinct connection
with this Father of the Church
I’m impressed by the weight
of his flesh spirit and reason
he reminds me physically
of Doctor Martin Luther
this breed of hippopotamuses
brought gravity back to the Church
I see their huge bodies
immersed
in the living water
of faith hope and love
[January 31 2003]
learning to walk
“langgestreckt auf meiner Pritsche
starre ich auf die graue Wand”
for the last two years I’ve been taking lessons
from Pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer
who was hanged
on April 9 1945
at the order of the Führer
Hitler Hiedler Hüttler
Hitler Schickelgruber
or whatever his name was
The Führer croaked on April 30
with his faithful dog
(poor dog)
in my long life
I’ve taken lessons not from poets alone
from Goethe Hölderlin Heine
Rilke
“Denn das Schöne ist nichts
als des Schrecklichen Anfang (...)”
Rilke to the end of his life
clung desperately
to women’s gowns
hiding in the folds of their skirts
till the day he died
he wore the girl’s frock
in which his mother
had dressed him
“she was like a gown
ghastly and terrifying”
if he had only stayed for a moment
with Heinrich Ziell
Am Pferdefleischwagen!
But Rilke chose the angel’s tower
chose the Princess of Thurn und Taxis
so I left him and went to seek
instruction from Brecht
on the way I met Grabbe
(extraordinary fellow!) and Benn
Bonhoeffer I met in Wrocław
start from the beginning
start again he would say to me
learn to walk
learn to write to read
to think
you must accept the fact
that God has gone from this world
he isn’t dead!
you have to accept the fact
that you’re an adult
that you have to live
without a Father
and he also said
that you have to live with dignity
in a godless world
without counting on punishments or rewards
did I not sin
comparing the Führer
to a dog? after all he was a man
he had a mother and father
a sister and brother
he was an artist he left
watercolors and drawings
he was a writer he loved Wagner
he left “Mein Kampf”
there are rumors in my country
that “Mein Kampf” has been published
in Polish but no one
has seen or heard anything . . .
alas the Führer croaked
and the Jewish problem still awaits
its final solution
“Endlösung der Judenfrage”
Jews Arabs Poles and Germans
are a little oversensitive
everywhere they detect antisemitism
and yet the forest of trees
planted by the hands of the Righteous
grows green thickens
rises to the windows of our
homes
there are excellent comedies
about Auschwitz Majdanek Sobibor
the Passion and the Holocaust are becoming
ever more profitable
four hundred million dollars is serious money
not a mere thirty pieces of silver
we sat in the shade of trees
St. Elizabeth’s
Bonhoeffer read me
the poems he wrote in Tegel
“langgestreckt auf meiner Pritsche
starre ich auf die graue Wand”
I gazed at the Light at his monument
that has no head no arms
what if God has taken fright
and abandoned the Earth?
instead of answering
my question
he put his finger to his lips
does it mean
that you won’t that you can’t
answer my question
wrapped in a stinking blanket
his eyes closed
he listened to the gray wall of his cell
with the eyes of his imagination
he painted it in wildflowers
cornflowers marigolds chamomiles
poppies and more cornflowers
the eyes and lips of his betrothed
those departing footsteps were they hers
or the steps of a condemned
Brother
the slamming of a door
“Ich gehe mit dir Bruder
an jenen Ort
und ich höre dein letztes Wort”
are you refusing
to answer my question
I asked him a second and third time
then he raised his eyes to me
again placed his finger
on his lips
stood up and left
followed Christ
emulated Christ
he walked across a field with other
students hungry they picked
ripe ears of corn
husked the grains ate them
from their hands
they husked the grains with their fingers
I tried to catch up with them
and found myself suddenly in the light
in the land of childhood
in an earthly paradise I recovered
the eyes and lips
of my girl and cornflowers
and clouds
then He came to a stop
and said
friend
strike out one “big word”
from your poem
strike out the word “beauty”
[Wrocław 2002–2004]
Der Zauberer The Magician
the German papers reported
“Berlin in Christo-Fieber”
Christo swathed the Reichstag
in thousands of yards
of marvelous silver
fabric
first to disappear was the doorway
with the inscription
“Dem deutschen Volke”
“To the German nation”
Once long long ago
before Christo and Jeanne-Claude
were born
the Reichstag went up in flames
the glow filled the sky over Germany
over Europe
over the world
then Heine Brecht
the Mann brothers
were burned at the stake
Benn searched feverishly
for his Aryan roots
Ernst Jünger pulled on his gloves
Goebbels barked
lied through his teeth
he had an artistic soul
wrote plays
Göring guffawed and bellowed
plundered
masterpieces of painting
a fake Vermeer
and a genuine Vermeer
carpet bombing turned
the city to rubble and ash
Adelheid hat Supp’ gekocht
die ganze Woch’
auf einem Knoch’
years passed wars passed
the rain stopped falling
the sun rose over Berlin
the smiling end of the 20th century
no one remembered
Lubbe or Dymitrov
it was 1995