Adam Zagajewski: The close of summer (poem in English)

The close of summer

The commuter train speeds through detachments
of suburbs like a dagger hungry only for the heart.
The voice of some dictator or other
comes closer to me through the speakers
and a squirrel leaping from branch to branch
moves farther away.
The close of summer, cedar cones heavy,
a nun in a coarse brown habit
smiling like someone who’s accepted it all.
Dragonflies skim the oily sheen of a pond,
rowboats slide then go down in the setting sun’s crimson;
the heat, like a customs officer, palpates
each thing in its skin.
A mailman dozes on a bench and letters leap
from his bag like swallows; ice cream melts on the grass,
moles pile up mounds honoring swarthy heroes
nameless forever. Dark trees
stand above us, green fire between them.
September approaches; war, death.

Translated by Renata Gorczynski, Benjamin Ivry and C. K. Williams
(source: Vilenica Almanac 1996)