On Lines from Czesław Miłosz’s “Meaning”

When I die, I will see the lining of the world

—Wasn’t it your turn, you said, to be
Sensate, you with a wicked cough, and outside
The world in pain again, when your Weltanschauung
Creates your Weltschmerz, and you coming out
Of welter nights, how could you not feel?

—Won’t the perfect match light the perfect
Fire, earth blazed, earth scorched, the last branch
Still alive, holding on? You counted then recounted
And still numbers refuse to add up to
Anything you would care to praise.

—The riverbanks that line the river you
Can’t get across: if you were the messenger,
What message would you have memorized, relining
The chests of drawers in the hallway, what kind of
Sentence, isn’t that a new way to try to begin?

   Contributor’s notes

   Introduction and Table of Contents

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