A Whole Life in Every Day
There is a poem in Adam Zagajewski’s last book of poems, Asymmetry. For a while I couldn’t read the book, and then it called, became as clear as a bell, inviting me in. Saying what I needed to hear at the exact right time. Which is what poems miraculously do! (When the humans in your life aren’t giving you what you need, telling you what you need to hear, pro tip: you will often find this in a poem).
In a review in World Literature Today, Magdalena Kay said this:
“These poems know that they are governed by a tangled logic. They also, crucially, realize that human life is not always governed by any perceptible logic and do not try to explain the inexplicable to their readers. This is one of the most gratifying aspects of Zagajewski’s work—it does not pretend to know every secret, to have every answer. Despite the poet’s defenses of ardor, seriousness, and high art, he never lectures or condescends to us, never holds himself above our own human level.
The poems in Asymmetry are among Zagajewski’s best: precise yet grand, contemporary yet timeless, suffused with emotion yet not maudlin, and never self-satisfied. If this is the poet’s late style, we can only wish there will be more.”
What author doesn’t dream of having these words said about them? “Precise yet grand.”
In his “Orange Notebook” he writes:
“Last night, new ideas, notes, music.
Morning — a wasteland.
A whole life is contained in every day. It must
squeeze through the day, like a young cat awkwardly exiting a tree.”
And later in the same poem:
“Josef Czapski frequently advised me: when you’re having a bad day, paint
a still life.”
It’s the time of year for making still lifes, anyway, isn’t it? The flowers won’t last much longer. Bring some in, make a still life won’t you? Then make your way to the couch.
There’s a short poem I love to read at this time of year by the Italian writer Patrizia Cavalli (translated here by Gini Alhadeff):
“We’re all going to hell in a while.
But meanwhile
summer’s over.
So come on now, to the couch!
The couch! The couch!”
It’s the time of year, give or take, creature of habit that I am, when I take a look at Rilke. And also, yearly, I do tend to share this by Rilke:
“Do not believe that the person who is trying to offer solace lives his life effortlessly among the simple and quiet words that might occasionally comfort you. His life is filled with much hardship and sadness, and it remains far behind yours. But if it were otherwise, he could never have found these words.”
As dear Kimmy Beach always says, everybody has something, you know? Life is not easy; life is not hard. All of life is transformation, ebb and flow. Things are good, things are not good. Rinse and repeat. One day there are notes and poems, such music! as AZ says, but in the morning, crumbs, a dreary wasteland. So if your day isn’t going the greatest, if there are crumbs, and dust, remember you can always paint (or photograph or write a poem about or really just look at) a still life. I’ve always found it helps.
