Piotr SommerPolandWriting2007

Where are we? In ironies
that no one will grasp, short-lived
and unmarked, in trivial points
which reduce metaphysics to absurd
detail, in Tuesday that falls on
day two of May, in mnemonics of days.
You can give an example or take it
on faith, cat’s paw at the throat.

And one also likes certain words and those – pardon me –
syntaxes that pretend that something links them together.
Between these inter-meanings the whole man is contained,
squeezing in where he sees a little space.

A Small Treatise on Non-Contradiction

Son goes out of the apartment block to get some air
since the autumn’s still pretty, and why waste the weather.
He goes to the pond to study bugs, returns
and checks everything in books.

From the kitchen window I watch the boys kick a ball.
The door opens, and while the door’s open
you can hear that the lift works today,
clicks shut and moves on, to be useful.


Nothing will be the same as it was,
even enjoying the same things
won’t be the same. Our sorrows
will differ one from the other and we
will differ one from the other in our worries.

And nothing will be the same as it was,
nothing at all. Simple thoughts will sound
different, newer, since they’ll be more simply, more newly
spoken. The heart will know how to open up and love
won’t be love anymore. Everything will change.

Nothing will be the same as it was
and that too will be new somehow, since after all,
before, things could be similar:
morning, the rest of the day, evening and night, but not now.