I am posting some poems from Czeslaw Milosz’ ‘Last Poems’ never before published and translated by his son. In the final days of completing my manuscript I need to return to the furthest point within myself that I can currently consciously go before I release my poems to publication. I am glad that I have found these pieces; they will inspire me and I can dialogue with Milosz’ work here; his voice has a way of making me easily go in; returning into my self; my own voice; his poems keep me warm–the flame in my breast burning.
Each of these poems speaks to me. I can specifically identify with what he writes and I can draw into it pulling out something; as babe out of the womb. Or a dark spirit that longs to forfeit itself and move towards the light.
Without My Daemonion
Daemonion, for two weeks now you’ve failed to visit me
And I’m becoming the one I’d have always been, without you help.
I look in the mirror and my face finds no favor,
Memory opens up, and it’s a horror.
Mixed up and unhappy man that I am,
I will remain completely different in my poems.
I would like to warn readers, beg forgiveness.
But how, when I can’t even write this lamentation.