loving poetry but finding it uncomfortably not at home in this world… but then something like this, this, comes along..
|My Faithful Mother Tongue
by Czeslaw Milosz
Issue no. 87 (Spring 1983)Faithful mother tongue
I have been serving you.
Every night, I used to set before you little bowls of colors
so you could have your birch, your cricket, your finch
as preserved in my memory.This lasted many years.
You were my native land; I lacked any other.
I believed that you would also be a messenger
between me and some good people
even if they were few, twenty, ten
or not born, as yet.
Now, I confess my doubt.
But without you, who am I?
I understand, this is meant as my education:
Faithful mother tongue,