Account
By
Czeslaw Milosz
Translated by Czeslaw Milosz and Robert Pinsky
The history of my stupidity would fill many volumes.
Some would be devoted to acting against consciousness,
Like the flight of a moth which, had it known,
Would have tended nevertheless toward the candle’s flame.
Others would deal with ways to silence anxiety,
The little whisper which, though it is a warning, is ignored.
I would deal separately with satisfaction and pride,
The time when I was among their adherents
Who strut victoriously, unsuspecting.
But all of them would have one subject, desire,
If only my own—but no, not at all; alas,
I was driven because I wanted to be like others.
I was afraid of what was wild and indecent in me.
The history of my stupidity will not be written.
For one thing, it’s late. And the truth is laborious.
Berkeley, 1980.
Winner of the 1980 Nobel Prize in Literature, Czeslaw Milosz (1911-2004) was a poet, novelist, translator and professor at the University of California at Berkeley.
Submitted by David Chirico
Tags: The Monday Poem
