pixel Page 18FCEBD2B-4FEB-41E0-A69A-B0D02E5410AERectangle 52 Przejdź do treści
“to dust you won’t return / not quite.” A poem by a contemporary Polish poet.
2020-10-28 09:00:00


Illustration by Joanna Łańcucka

to dust you won’t return
not quite
to keep watch we’ll post a guard
of armored roses, fortified tombs
to send you off a submarine
to send you off a diving suit

sister fly, brother beetle
mother clay, father rain
we return to you your child
with this plastic wreath

this dialogue of polymers with death
this human forever and ever amen

Illustration by Joanna Łańcucka
Illustration by Joanna Łańcucka

Author’s commentary:

My cousin is dead, and I hardly knew him. He lived and loved and died without me. And now the sun is shining, and everyone’s muttering Hail Marys. My mum and I bought individual roses, but they were bound with a silver ribbon, which I was too embarrassed to remove in public. In any case, what does it matter given all the wreaths of green latex, polyester, or some other substance whose name I don’t even know, though I come into contact with it more often than I do, say, with a giraffe.

Illustration by Joanna Łańcucka
Illustration by Joanna Łańcucka

Translated from the Polish by Karen Kovacik


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Ida Dzik

was born in September. She writes and sings, and studies at the faculty of “Artes Liberales” at the University of Warsaw. She gets involved against industrial farming, inequalities and climate change. She believes in political art. She lives in the Bielany district of Warsaw.