She got out at Raspail. I was left behind with the immensity of existing things. A sponge, suffering because it cannot saturate itself; a river, suff… - Czesław Miłosz

TAKO MALO

Tako malo sam rekao,
Kratki dani.

Kratki dani,
Kratke noći,
Kratke godine.

Tako malo sam rekao,
Ne stigoh.

Moje srce se umorilo
Od ushićenja,
Očajanja,
Gorljivosti,
Nade.

Čeljust levijatana
Zatvarala se u meni.

Nag ležah na obalama
Bezljudnih ostrva.

Povuče me u ponor sa sobom
Beli kit sveta.

I sad ne znam
Šta je bilo istinsko.

(U Berkliju, 1969.)

Since poetry deals with the singular, not the general, it cannot - if it is good poetry - look at things of this earth other than as colorful, variegated, and exciting, and so, it cannot reduce life, with all its pain, horror, suffering, and ecstasy, to a unified tonality of boredom and complaint. By necessity poetry is therefore on the side of being and against nothingness.

When someone is honestly 55 percent right, that’s very good and there’s no use wrangling. And if someone is 60 percent right, it’s wonderful, it’s great luck, and let him thank God.

But what’s to be said about 75 percent right? Wise people say this is suspicious. Well, and what about 100 percent right? Whoever says he’s 100 percent right is a fanatic, a thug, and the worst kind of rascal.