Czeslaw Milosz - A great Polish Poet and Underground Anti-Na

[Rastafari]

Has anyone read this guy? He is one of the greatest poets of our time, a Pulitzer Winner, and an ardent anti-fascist. Beautiful stuff, I recommend highly you guy get some of his stuff

[Rastafari]

long time no see
lets see if anybody knew realizes the man's genius

[Hampton]

Inspired by you I did a search and found some poems for the people who are to lazy to do it themselves:

http://www.nobel.se/literature/laureates/1980/milosz.jpg

http://plagiarist.com/poetry/?aid=98

Account

The history of my stupidity would fill many volumes.
Some would be devoted to acting against consciousness,
Like the flight of a moth which, had it known,
Would have tended nevertheless toward the candle's flame.
Others would deal with ways to silence anxiety,
The little whisper which, thought it is a warning, is ignored.
I would deal separately with satisfaction and pride,
The time when I was among their adherents
Who strut victoriously, unsuspecting.
But all of them would have one subject, desire,
If only my own -- but no, not at all; alas,
I was driven because I wanted to be like others.
I was afraid of what was wild and indecent in me.
The history of my stupidity will not be written.
For one thing, it's late. And the truth is laborious.

Forget

Forget the suffering
You caused others.
Forget the suffering
Others caused you.
The waters run and run,
Springs sparkle and are done,
You walk the earth you are forgetting.
Sometimes you hear a distant refrain.
What does it mean, you ask, who is singing?
A childlike sun grows warm.
A grandson and a great-grandson are born.
You are led by the hand once again.
The names of the rivers remain with you.
How endless those rivers seem!
Your fields lie fallow,
The city towers are not as they were.
You stand at the threshold mute.

Not Mine

All my life to pretend this world of theirs is mine
And to know such pretending is disgraceful.
But what can I do? Suppose I suddenly screamed
And started to prophesy. No one would hear me.
Their screens and microphones are not for that.
Others like me wander the streets
And talk to themselves. Sleep on benches in parks,
Or on pavements in alleys. For there aren't enough prisons
To lock up all the poor. I smile and keep quiet.
They won't get me now.
To feast with the chosen—that I do well.

Conversation with Jeanne (http://www.ibiblio.org/ipa/milosz/mil1.html)

A Poem for the End of the Century (http://www.ibiblio.org/ipa/milosz/mil2.html)

Bio (http://www.poets.org/poets/poets.cfm?prmID=210)

[Rastafari]

I was too lazy to do it. Thanks Hampton.
What do you think?

[Hampton]

I like Account. I think we can all fill bokks upon books of just stupid things that we've done and afterwords been like "What the fuck was I thinking", going against out conscience, like the moth to the fly if you will.

Who's Jeanne in Conversation with Jeanne?

[Rastafari]

I'm really not sure, I guess I should find out, though.