Always caught up in what they called <br />the practical side of life <br />(theory was for Plato), <br />up to their elbows in furniture, in bedding, <br />in cupboards and kitchen gardens, <br />they never neglected the lavender sachets <br />that turned a linen closet to a meadow. <br /> <br />The practical side of life, <br />like the Moon's unlighted face, <br />didn't lack for mysteries; <br />when Christmastime drew near, <br />life became pure praxis <br />and resided temporarily in hallways, <br />took refuge in suitcases and satchels. <br /> <br />And when somebody died--it happened <br />even in our family, alas-- <br />my aunts, preoccupied <br />with death's practical side, <br />forgot at last about the lavender, <br />whose frantic scent bloomed selflessly <br />beneath a heavy snow of sheets. <br />Don't just do something, sit there. <br />And so I have, so I have, <br /> the seasons curling around me like smoke, <br />Gone to the end of the earth and back without sound. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />Translated by Clare Cavanagh<br /><br />Adam Zagajewski<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-aunts/
