Yet falling in love is not the same as being able to love.
Czesław MiłoszI imagine the earth when I am no more:
Women's dresses, dewy lilacs, a song in the valley.
Yet the books will be there on the shelves, well born,
Derived from people, but also from radiance, heights.
The living owe it to those who no longer can speak to tell their story for them.
Czesław MiłoszTag: living dead remembrance reminiscence
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Human reason is beautiful and invincible.
No bars, no barbed wire, no pulping of books,
No sentence of banishment can prevail against it.
It puts what should be above things as they are.
It does not know Jew from Greek nor slave from master.
I was not meant to live anywhere except in Paradise.
Such, simply, was my genetic inadaptation.
Here on earth every prick of a rose-thorn changed into a wound. When the sun hid behind a cloud, I grieved.
I pretended to work like others from morning to evening, but I was absent, dedicated to invisible countries.
Tag: nonadaptation
And Yet the Books
And yet the books will be there on the shelves, separate beings,
That appeared once, still wet
As shining chestnuts under a tree in autumn,
And, touched, coddled, began to live
In spite of fires on the horizon, castles blown up,
Tribes on the march, planets in motion.
“We are,” they said, even as their pages
Were being torn out, or a buzzing flame
Licked away their letters. So much more durable
Than we are, whose frail warmth
Cools down with memory, disperses, perishes.
I imagine the earth when I am no more:
Nothing happens, no loss, it's still a strange pageant,
Women's dresses, dewy lilacs, a song in the valley.
Yet the books will be there on the shelves, well born,
Derived from people, but also from radiance, heights.
In a room where
people unanimously maintain
a conspiracy of silence,
one word of truth
sounds like a pistol shot.
Tag: truth honesty integrity democracy virtue dissent heroes truth-telling
Not that I want to be a god or a hero. Just to change into a tree, grow for ages, not hurt anyone.
Czesław MiłoszYou who think of us: they lived only in delusion... Know that we the People of the Book, will never die!
Czesław MiłoszWhat has no shadow has no strength to live.
Czesław MiłoszTag: shadows
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