Initial Public Offering

In The Pére Lachaise

 

 

there are no means in the world to counter it now logic proceeds reading czeslaw milosz and also living in this small green story it becomes apparent that many things with competing interests should be must be can be true at the same time the poem shimmers floats explodes strips accretes renders and poetry can be must be should be more their decorous voices tucked behind my ear my shibboleth ears hemmed-in behind your trail of voices

 

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‘Magpiety’ by Czeslaw Milosz

magpiety2

The same and not quite the same, I walked through oak forests
Amazed that my Muse, Mnemosyne,
Has in no way diminished my amazement.
A magpie was screeching and I said: Magpiety?
What is magpiety? I shall never achieve
A magpie heart, a hairy nostril over the beak, a flight
That always renews just when coming down,
And so I shall never comprehend magpiety.
If however magpiety does not exist
My nature does not exist either.
Who would have guessed that, centuries later,
I would invent the question of universals?

Montgeron, 1958

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Source: Miłosz, Czesław. New and Collected Poems, 1931-2001. New York, N.Y: Ecco, 2003. Print.

Magpiety

Wikipedia Poem, No. 736

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“If however magpiety does not exist / My nature does not exist either.” Czeslaw Milosz, 1958

 

after Czeslaw Milosz

my birthplace
which applies distantly

from one and art
… to the direct experience of

this app
ibidem conferatur magpiety

i walked through books
against our will even

it does not occur without books
this also applies to distant from one end

even against our will
it does not occur through books ever

yet to my birthplace
against our will

applied distantly
it does not occur over rivers even

from one art to another
it does not occur with wetted thigh

… the direct experience of
this also applies distant from one and

this appellate iridescence
walking through my mind

ibidem conferatur magpiety
even against our will

Spindle 22

Wikipedia Poem, No. 735

mcgov

let boys be like burdocks
city of salt pork
sunken chin girls
but let’s not yearn for life

boys and bones
paired with anaphora
brief or else too long
turn now toward sunset

enamored with sunken burdocks
and potbellied defectives
of now so brief and brimming
with trust bone and enamel

“What Does It Mean?” by Czeslaw Milosz

It does not know it glitters
It does not know it flies
It does not know it is this not that.

And, more and more often, agape,
With my Gauloise dying out,
Over a glass of red wine,
I muse on the meaning of being this not that.

Just as long ago, when I was twenty,
But then there was a hope I would be everything,
Perhaps even a butterfly or a thrush, by magic.
Now I see dusty district roads
And a town where the postmaster gets drunk every day
Melancholy with remaining identical to himself.

If only the stars contained me.
If only everything kept happening in such a way
That the so-called world opposed the so-called flesh.
Were I at least not contradictory. Alas.


Source:  Miłosz, Czesław. New and Collected Poems 1931-2001. New York: Ecco, 2001. Print. Page 164.