Try to praise the mutilated world.
Remember June's long days,
and wild strawberries, drops of wine, the dew.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
...
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I am the translator of this poem, and not Renata Gorczynski, as the original publication in The New Yorker and later in Zagajewski's collection 'Without End, ' will confirm. I'd appreciate your chaning the attribution here. Thank you.
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I am the translator of this poem, and not Renata Gorczynski, as the original publication in The New Yorker and later in Zagajewski's collection 'Without End, ' will confirm. I'd appreciate your chaning the attribution here. Thank you.