The earth’s scars | The Health Culture

I came across this poem today. I remember receiving it from Cathy Edgett in the days following 9/11. As we collectively watch oil rise from a gash in the ocean’s floor, it seems appropriate again. The tragedy is not so much the literal mutilation of the earth as it is the ratcheting up of our collective disillusion with politicians and corporate executives, whose financial interests take precedence over the common good.

Try to Praise the Multilated 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 gray feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and returns.

The poem, originally written in Polish by Adam Zagajewski, is translated by Clare Cavanagh. It was published in The New Yorker on September 24, 2001 and was followed in subsequent issues by a series of poems in response to 9/11.

In praising the mutilated world, it’s not that we shouldn’t take action in response to tragedy. But individuals need to maintain their sanity in order to continue with their lives and to collectively respond once they are able. I’m reminded of a scene in Mad Men where the housekeeper, Clara, advises a distraught Betty Draper: You need to step out of the house and discover that the world is right there where you left it. In an over-mediated world, we risk losing our sense of balance.

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Photo source: rita8

Adam Zagajewski, Try to Praise the Multilated World, The New Yorker, September 24, 2001