From  Adam Zagajewski’s collection of poems titled Without End*; the following is from the poem – How High The Moon

My uncle supervised
our outings: he loved life
(but it wasn’t mutual)

If anyone told me then
that this was childhood,
I would have said no;

it was just hours and days,
endless hours,
the sweet days of June

on the banks of a canal
that never rushed,
drenched in damp dreams,

and the meek young moon
setting out alone
to vanquish night.

A review will have to wait until I have lingered on the unread poems. I am unable to place my finger on the pulse that brings these poems, those that I have read so far, so beautifully to life.

* translated from the Polish by Clare Cavanagh, Renata Gorczynski, Benjamin Ivry, and C. K. Williams. 

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