If last year was the year of R.S. Thomas, this will be, at least in part, the year of Czeslaw Milosz. Before Christmas I began his complete New and Collected Poems (1931-2001), and I'll be slowly making my way through it as the months go along. Expect this post, therefore, to be the first of many. Blessings.
- - - - - - -
By Czeslaw Milosz
When we were fleeing the burning city
And looked back from the first field path,
I said: "Let the grass grow over our footprints,
Let the harsh prophets fall silent in the fire,
Let the dead explain to the dead what happened.
We are fated to beget a new and violent tribe
Free from the evil and the happiness that drowsed there.
Let us go"—and the earth was opened for us by a sword of flames.