Dedication
You whom I could not
Listen to me.
Try to understand this simple speech as I would be ashamed of another.
I swear, there is in me no wizardry of words.
I speak to you with silence like a cloud or a tree.
What strengthened me, for you was lethal.
You mixed up farewell to an epoch with the beginning of a new one,
Inspiration of hatred with lyrical beauty,
Blind force with accomplished shape.
Here is the valley of shallow Polish rivers.
And an immense
Going into white fog.
Here is a broken city,
And the wind throws the screams of gulls on your
When I am talking with you.
What is poetry which does not
Nations or people?
A connivance with official lies,
A song of drunkards whose throats will be cut in a moment,
Readings for sophomore girls.
That I wanted good poetry without knowing it,
That I discovered, late, its salutary aim,
In this and only this I find salvation.
They used to pour millet on graves or poppy
To feed the dead who would come disguised as birds.
I put this book here for you, who once
So that you should visit us no more.
Czeslaw Milosz
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