(Translated, from the Polish, by Clare Cavanagh. From: Without End: New and Selected Poems)
And airplanes, too, make their way to a salty oblivion, and the executioners go on singing joyfully, and the refugee camps fill up. Which is why we must go on trying, trying to praise the mutilated world. Trying to reconcile the unreconcilable. The beauty of the world and the arrival of light that 'strays and vanishes and returns' with the atrocities and the unthinkable cruelties and the earth's scars.
Yesterday I fell into the light.
I suppose these photos will seem a little bit all the same. But no, the light kept changing, and there is this light in one, and then another light.
And depending on where I stood, and how I manipulated the settings on the camera, the light could be seen completely differently.
Here the light suddenly increased its volume.
So, the flowers are the same in the next many photos, but the light appears in various subtle permutations. All in a very short span of time. Which seemed to me praiseworthy.