Caffè Greco
In the eighties of the twentieth century, in Rome, via Condotti
We were sitting with Turowicz in the Caffè Greco
And I spoke in, more or less, these words:
---We have seen much, comprehended much.
States were falling, countries passed away.
Chimeras of the human mind besieged us
And made people perish or sink into slavery.
The swallows of Rome wake me up at dawn
And I feel then transitoriness, the lightness
Of detaching myself. Who I am, who I was
Is not so important. Because others,
Noble-minded, great, sustain me
Anytime I think of them. Of the hierarchy of beings.
Those who gave testimony to their faith,
Whose names are erased or trampled to the ground
Continue to visit us. From them we take the measure,
Aesthetic, I should say, of works, expectations, designs.
By what can literature redeem itself
If not by a melopoeia of praise, a hymn
Even unintended? And you have my admiration,
For you accomplished more than did my companions
Who once sat here, the proud geniuses.
Why they grieved over their lack of virtue,
Why they felt such pangs of conscience,
I now understand.
With age and with the waning of this age
One learns to value wisdom, and simple goodness.
Maritain whom we used to read long ago
Would have reason to be glad. And for me: amazement
That the city of Rome stands, that we meet again,
That I still exist for a moment, myself and the swallows.
—Czeslaw Miɫosz (1911-2004)
from New and Collected Poems, 1931-2001
HarperCollins (2003)