[BRIEF NOTE] More on Milosz

[rfmcdonald]

From Transitions Online, an article which emphasizes that true knowledge of Milosz' body of work requires knowledge of the Polish language. It also makes the point that Milosz, born in Lithuania at a time when that name referred to a much wider area than ethnic Lithuania, never fit well into conventional definitions of Polishness:

Although the Polish political and cultural establishment showed profound respect for and recognition of Milosz’s greatness, that admiration was not universal. Right-wing political and religious authorities always castigated Milosz for not fitting into the narrow mold of their idea of “Polishness” and didn’t stop doing so even after he died. Born into Polish-Lithuanian nobility, Milosz was a left-inclined, critical patriot; a lifelong Catholic, he was not in awe of the Church hierarchy. Before emigrating, he was for a few years in the diplomatic service of the Polish communist government--a fact never forgotten by “true Poles.” As Milosz was not inclined to write in a heroic mode, the true Poles chose as their poet Zbigniew Herbert, whose work, especially during the period of post-Solidarity martial law, was read as a call to arms. Such is Poland’s good fortune that both of these men are poets of the highest order. Too bad that the political tradition forces allegiance to only one of them and denial of patriotism and Polishness to the other.

And nicked from the article, another Milosz poem. I like the guy.

Late Ripeness
Not soon, as late as the approach of my ninetieth year,
I felt a door opening in me and I entered
the clarity of early morning.

One after another my former lives were departing,
like ships, together with their sorrow.

And the countries, cities, gardens, the bays of seas
assigned to my brush came closer,
ready now to be described better than they were before.

I was not separated from people,
grief and pity joined us.
We forget--I kept saying--that we are all children of the King.

For where we come from there is no division
into Yes and No, into is, was, and will be.

We were miserable, we used no more than a hundredth part
of the gift we received for our long journey.

Moments from yesterday and from centuries ago--
a sword blow, the painting of eyelashes before a mirror
of polished metal, a lethal musket shot, a caravel
staving its hull against a reef--they dwell in us,
waiting for a fulfillment.

I knew, always, that I would be a worker in the vineyard,
as are all men and women living at the same time,
whether they are aware of it or not.

--translated by the author [Irena Grudzinska Gross] and Robert Hass