Showing posts from January, 2016

At A Recent Poetry Reading, Where I Attempt The Vulcan Mind Meld With The Dead Poet, Czeslaw Milosz

Vying for my attention another poet cries, “Try not to look at me.” as she models her black bribe. To which I reply, "You are a garden I dare not enter a rusted gate glumly rigged." ... I must awaken my taste. My mood is blind. ... They come in the night with empty buckets to take the land assault my knowing with malodorous cues. ... Idle reality impales hope to a tree where not even the crow can gloat. ... Have faith, child  The World is naive. 
Feed it a few gluten-free animal crackers.

From Poem Hunter: Czeslaw Milosz, Polish poet, prose writer and translator of Lithuanian origin and subsequent American citizenship. His World War II-era sequence The World is a collection of 20 "naive" poems. He defected to the West in 1951, and his nonfiction book "The Captive Mind" (1953) is a classic of anti-Stalinism. From 1961 to 1998 he was a professor of Slavic Languages and Literatures at the University of California, Berkeley. In 1980, he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature.

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