Czeslaw Milosz: "Hope"

Hope is with you when you believe
The earth is not a dream but living flesh,
That sight, touch, and hearing do not lie,
That all things you have ever seen here
Are like a garden looked at from a gate.

You cannot enter. But you're sure it's there.
Could we but look more clearly and wisely
We might discover somewhere in the garden
A strange new flower and an unnamed star.

Some people say we should not trust our eyes,
That there is nothing, just a seeming,
These are the ones who have no hope.
They think that the moment we turn away,
The world, behind our backs, ceases to exist,
As if snatched up by the hands of thieves.

"Hope" by Czeslaw Milosz, from The World (1943). Text as published in New and Collected Poems: 1931-2001 (Ecco, 2003). Translated from the original Polish by Czeslaw Milosz and Robert Hass.

Art credit: "Follow Me," photograph by Andrea Clare.

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Czeslaw Milosz: "Gift"

A day so happy.
Fog lifted early, I worked in the garden.
Hummingbirds were stopping over honeysuckle flowers.
There was no thing on earth I wanted to possess.
I knew no one worth my envying him.
Whatever evil I had suffered, I forgot.
To think that once I was the same man did not embarrass me.
In my body I felt no pain.
When straightening up, I saw the blue sea and sails.

"Gift" by Czeslaw Milosz, from New and Collected Poems: 1931-2001 (Ecco, 2003 edition). Translated from the original Polish by Czeslaw Milosz.

Watch the poet read his poem, in both English and the original Polish.

Art credit: "Sailboat in a Great Blue Ocean," wallpaper by unknown photographer.

Czeslaw Milosz: "On Pilgrimage"

May the smell of thyme and lavender accompany us on our journey
To a province that does not know how lucky it is
For it was, among all the hidden corners of the earth,
The only one chosen and visited.

We tended toward the Place but no signs led there.
Till it revealed itself in a pastoral valley
Between mountains that look older than memory,
By a narrow river humming at the grotto.

May the taste of wine and roast meat stay with us
As it did when we used to feast in the clearings,
Searching, not finding, gathering rumors,
Always comforted by the brightness of the day.

May the gentle mountains and the bells of the flocks
Remind us of everything we have lost,
For we have seen on our way and fallen in love
With the world that will pass in a twinkling.

 
"On Pilgrimage" by Czeslaw Milosz, from New and Collected Poems: 1931-2001 (Ecco, 2003). Translated from the original Polish by Czeslaw Milosz and Robert Hass. Text as posted on Mindfulness Hub (04/12/15).

Art credit: "Pleated Plains," Polish landscape photograph by Krzysztof Browko.

Czeslaw Milosz: "Encounter"

We were riding through frozen fields in a wagon at dawn.
A red wing rose in the darkness.

And suddenly a hare ran across the road.
One of us pointed to it with his hand.

That was long ago. Today neither of them is alive,
Not the hare, nor the man who made the gesture.

O my love, where are they, where are they going
The flash of a hand, streak of movement, rustle of pebbles.
I ask not out of sorrow, but in wonder.

                                                         Wilno, 1936

"Encounter" by Czeslaw Milosz, from The Collected Poems, 1931-1987 (Ecco Press, 1988). Text as presented by the Poetry Foundation.

Art credit: Photograph of "a brown hare at dawn in Norfolk, [England," taken by Ian Paul Haskell.

Czeslaw Milosz: "Eyes"

My most honorable eyes. You are not in the best shape.

I receive from you an image, less than sharp,

And if a color, then it's dimmed.

And you were a pack of royal hounds

With whom I would set forth in the early morning.

My wondrously quick eyes, you saw many things,

Lands and cities. Islands and oceans.

Together we greeted immense sunrises,

When the fresh air invited us to run
Along trails just dry from cold night dew.

Now what you have seen is hidden inside

And changed into memory or dreams

Slowly I move away from the fair of the world

And I notice in myself a distaste

For monkeyish dresses, shrieks and drum beats.

What a relief. Alone with my meditation

On the basic similarity in humans

And their tiny grain of dissimilarity.

Without eyes, my gaze is fixed on one bright point

That grows large and takes me in.

"Eyes" by Czeslaw Milosz, from Second Space: New Poems (Ecco, 2004). Poem translated from the original Polish by Czeslaw Milosz, Carol Milosz and Renata Gorczyńsk, as presented on Visegrad Literature.

Art credit: "Go into the Light," photograph taken on November 18, 2010, by Eric Nelson.

Czeslaw Milosz: "Faith"

The word Faith means when someone sees
A dew-drop or a floating leaf, and knows
That they are, because they have to be.
And even if you dreamed, or closed your eyes
And wished, the world would still be what it was,
And the leaf would still be carried down the river.

It means that when someone’s foot is hurt
By a sharp rock, he also knows that rocks
Are here so they can hurt our feet.
Look, see the long shadow cast by the trees;
And flowers and people throw shadows on the earth:
What has no shadow has no strength to live. 

"Faith" by Czeslaw Milosz, from The Separate Notebooks: Poems. Translated from the Polish by Renata Gorczynski, Robert Hass, and Robert Pinsky. © Ecco Press, 1984.

Photography credit: "Fall Floating Downstream," by Daniel Johnson (originally color).

Czeslaw Milosz: "This Only"

A valley and above it forests in autumn colors.
A voyager arrives, a map leads him there.
Or perhaps memory. Once long ago in the sun,
When snow first fell, riding this way
He felt joy, strong, without reason,
Joy of the eyes. Everything was the rhythm
Of shifting trees, of a bird in flight,
Of a train on the viaduct, a feast in motion.
He returns years later, has no demands.
He wants only one, most precious thing:
To see, purely and simply, without name,
Without expectations, fears, or hopes,
At the edge where there is no I or not-I.

  

"This Only" by Czeslaw Milosz, from The Collected Poems, 1931-1987, translated by Robert Hass. © Ecco Press, 1988.

Photography credit: "Horse and Rider Riding Off," by Joe Boyle (originally black and white).

Czeslaw Milosz: "Love"

Love means to learn to look at yourself
The way one looks at distant things
For you are only one thing among many.
And whoever sees that way heals his heart.
Without knowing it, from various ills—
A bird and a tree say to him: Friend.

Then he wants to use himself and things
So that they stand in the glow of ripeness.
It doesn’t matter whether he knows what he serves:
Who serves best doesn’t always understand.

"Love" by Czeslaw Milosz, from Collected Poems. © Ecco, 1990.

Photograph: Untitled by Daffodil's Photo Blog (originally color).