<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=360124" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Winter</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The pungent smells of a California winter, <br>Grayness and rosiness, an almost transparent full moon. <br>I add logs to the fire, I drink and I ponder. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>“In Ilawa,” the news item said, “at age 70 <br>Died Aleksander Rymkiewicz, poet.” </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>He was the youngest in our group. I patronized him slightly, <br>Just as I patronized others for their inferior minds <br>Though they had many virtues I couldn’t touch. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>And so I am here, approaching the end <br>Of the century and of my life. Proud of my strength <br>Yet embarrassed by the clearness of the view. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Avant-gardes mixed with blood. <br>The ashes of inconceivable arts. <br>An omnium-gatherum of chaos. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>I passed judgment on that. Though marked myself. <br>This hasn’t been the age for the righteous and the decent. <br>I know what it means to beget monsters <br>And to recognize in them myself. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>You, moon, You, Aleksander, fire of cedar logs. <br>Waters close over us, a name lasts but an instant. <br>Not important whether the generations hold us in memory. <br>Great was that chase with the hounds for the unattainable meaning of <br>the world. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>And now I am ready to keep running <br>When the sun rises beyond the borderlands of death. <br>I already see mountain ridges in the heavenly forest <br>Where, beyond every essence, a new essence waits. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>You, music of my late years, I am called <br>By a sound and a color which are more and more perfect. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Do not die out, fire. Enter my dreams, love. <br>Be young forever, seasons of the earth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Czeslaw+Milosz">Czeslaw Milosz</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=360124" data-title="Winter de Czeslaw Milosz" data-description="The pungent smells of a California winter, Grayness and rosiness, an almost transparent full moon. I add logs to the fire, I drink and I ponder. “In Ilawa,” the news item said, “at age 70 Died Aleksander Rymkiewicz, poet.” He was ..."></div> </div> </div>

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