Czeslaw Milosz Poems
|45.||A Poor Christian Looks At The Ghetto||4/21/2010|
|47.||My Faithful Mother Tongue||3/23/2012|
|48.||Campo Di Fiori||1/3/2003|
|50.||And Yet The Books||1/8/2004|
|53.||And The City Stood In Its Brightness||2/20/2015|
|55.||A Poem For The End Of The Century||1/3/2003|
|56.||At A Certain Age||1/3/2003|
|58.||In Black Despair||1/13/2003|
|59.||City Without A Name||4/21/2010|
|60.||I Sleep A Lot||1/3/2003|
|63.||Child Of Europe||2/2/2004|
|64.||Conversation With Jeanne||1/3/2003|
Comments about Czeslaw Milosz
Love means to learn to look at yourself
The way one looks at distant things
For you are only one thing among many.
And whoever sees that way heals his heart,
Without knowing it, from various ills—
A bird and a tree say to him: Friend.
Then he wants to use himself and things
So that they stand in the glow of ripeness.
It doesn’t matter whether he knows what he serves:
Who serves best doesn’t always understand.
What Does It Mean
It does not know it glitters
It does not know it flies
It does not know it is this not that.
And, more and more often, agape,
With my Gauloise dying out,
Over a glass of red wine,
I muse on the meaning of being this not that.