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Provinces
     

Provinces

by Czeslaw Milosz
 

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"Milosz is one of the most compelling and universallyrelevant voices of this century."(— Booklist)

"In Provinces Czeslaw Milosz continues exploring his own version of themeditative lyric, refusing to rest on his laurels or to be imprisoned by hisCollected Poems, 1931-1987 ... Consequently, he joins the ranks of other great poets of old age, such as

Overview

"Milosz is one of the most compelling and universallyrelevant voices of this century."(— Booklist)

"In Provinces Czeslaw Milosz continues exploring his own version of themeditative lyric, refusing to rest on his laurels or to be imprisoned by hisCollected Poems, 1931-1987 ... Consequently, he joins the ranks of other great poets of old age, such as Robert Penn Warren and W. B. Yeatshimself."(' The New York Times Book Review)

"In his early 80's, in some of the best poetry of his "career" (if such a smallhearted word applies to this kind of a life), Milosz is still asking questions that are virtually unanswerable but morally essential: What is it like to have been alive? Who am I? Have I done more good than evil? The first and final province, as Milosz has seemed to know more and more surely over the years, is desire. If it is desire that always leads us away from our beginnings, then it is also through it that we are always being led back toward them, never quite getting there, but creating the world, and ourselves as we go."(' The Harvard Review)

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9780880013215
Publisher:
HarperCollins Publishers
Publication date:
07/01/1993
Edition description:
1st pbk. ed
Product dimensions:
6.18(w) x 9.22(h) x 0.46(d)

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Read an Excerpt

Blacksmith Shop

I liked the bellows operated by rope.
A hand or foot pedal--I don't remember which.
But that blowing, and the blazing of the fire!
And a piece of iron in the fire, held there by tongs,
Red, softened for the anvil,
Beaten with a hammer, bent into a horseshoe,
Thrown in a bucket of water, sizzle, steam.

And horses hitched to be shod,
Tossing their manes; and in the grass by the river
Plowshares, sledge runners, harrows waiting for repair

At the entrance, my bare feet on the dirt floor,
Here, gusts of heat; at my back, white clouds.
I stare and stare.
It seems I was called for this:
To glorify things just because they are.

Provinces. Copyright � by Czeslaw Milosz. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.

Meet the Author

Czeslaw Milosz was born in Szetejnie, Lithuania, in 1911. He worked with the Polish resistance movement in Warsaw during World War II and was later stationed in Paris and Washington, D.C., as a Polish cultural attaché. He defected to France in 1951, and in 1960 he accepted a position at the University of California, Berkeley. He was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1980, and was a member of the American Academy and Institute of Arts and Letters. He died in 2004.

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