The End and the Beginning / Wislawa Szymborska

After every war 
someone has to clean up. 
Things won’t 
straighten themselves up, after all. 

Someone has to push the rubble 
to the side of the road, 
so the corpse-filled wagons 
can pass. 

Someone has to get mired 
in scum and ashes, 
sofa springs, 
splintered glass, 
and bloody rags. 

Someone has to drag in a girder 
to prop up a wall. 
Someone has to glaze a window, 
rehang a door. 

Photogenic it’s not, 
and takes years. 
All the cameras have left 
for another war. 

We’ll need the bridges back, 
and new railway stations. 
Sleeves will go ragged 
from rolling them up. 

Someone, broom in hand, 
still recalls the way it was. 
Someone else listens 
and nods with unsevered head. 
But already there are those nearby 
starting to mill about 
who will find it dull. 

From out of the bushes 
sometimes someone still unearths 
rusted-out arguments 
and carries them to the garbage pile. 

Those who knew 
what was going on here 
must make way for 
those who know little. 
And less than little. 
And finally as little as nothing. 

In the grass that has overgrown 
causes and effects, 
someone must be stretched out 
blade of grass in his mouth 
gazing at the clouds.

(Translated from Polish by Joanna Trzeciak)