Czesław Miłosz was born in 1911 in Lithuania and raised in Poland. A poet, essayist, and activist whose work often attacked anti-Semitism and Stalinism, he later became a US citizen and professor at Berkley. He was awarded the 1980 Nobel Prize for Literature.
At a Certain Age
We wanted to confess our sins but there were no takers.
White clouds refused to accept them, and the wind
Was too busy visiting sea after sea.
We did not succeed in interesting the animals.
Dogs, disappointed, expected an order,
A cat, as always immoral, was falling asleep.
A person seemingly very close
Did not care to hear of things long past.
Conversations with friends over vodka or coffee
Ought not be prolonged beyond the first sign of boredom.
It would be humiliating to pay by the hour
A man with a diploma, just for listening.
Churches. Perhaps churches. But to confess there what?
That we used to see ourselves as handsome and noble
Yet later in our place an ugly toad
Half-opens its thick eyelid
And one sees clearly: “That’s me.”
ouch!
And a happy new year to you too, Becky!
Ah Milosz — man of stupendous eyebrows. I used to lightly stalk him in Berkeley. His relationship with Robert Hass is one of the great poetry collaborations … also, the collection of his letters with Thomas Merton are astonishing.
Powerful. And somehow comforting. Particularly since that ugly toad is looking straight at me right now.
A thoughtful poem, striving to be honest and therefore willing to accept (live with?) imperfection and disappointment, seen in retrospect from the vantage of years long lived rather than from the self-confidence of youth. Who wants to hear a list of our venial sins (known well to so many others) unless, perhaps, by admitting them we recognize that we are bound by common experience and can couple disgust with compassion. From my childhood I recall that toads, held in the cup of one’s hand, also have their charms, warts and all.