When I began to write, I didn’t know
each of my words would bit by bit remove
things from the world and in return leave blank
spaces. That poems would begin to take
the place of my own homeland, mother, father,
first love, and second youth, and what I write
would fade from this world, trade its solid being
for unstable existence, turn to air,
wind, tremors, fire. And what my poems touch on
would freeze in life and crumble into small
particles, nearly turn to antimatter,
completely invisible dust, spinning
in the air a long time, till finally falling
into your eye, making it start to water.
Tomasz Rózycki, “11. Headwinds,” from Colonies. English Translation Copyright © 2013 by Mira Rosenthal. Reprinted by permission of the publisher.
Source: Colonies (Zephyr Press, 2013)