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ball of th e sun, ringing, rolls." Yet it is no t the sun we are to look at; the
Absolute would blind us. In hi s beautiful closing hymn
to
the sun , Mil osz
echoes the medieval homage to li ght, its colo r and spl endo r: light, says St.
Bonaventure, " is the substantial fo rm of bodi es; by th eir grea ter or lesser
participatio n in li ght, bodi es acquire the truth and di gni ty o f their being."
Whereas the mys ti c may leave the world behind and gaze at the sun , the
poe t-or whoever "wan ts to paint the vari ega ted world"-must find hi s
light in bodi es.
In
the " li ght ren ected by the ground," all losses are
res to red- th e stars and th e roses, the du sks and the dawns." After that lumi–
nous promi se, benea th th e las t poem of the sequence, Mil osz has inscribed
a place and time: Warsaw, 1943. T he juxtapositio n of the poet's promi se
to
the poet's plight stands fo r th e defi ance mounted by th e poem . Belief meets
carnage; fa ith , hope, and love meet betrayal, despair, and hatred .
In
recent yea rs, Milosz has bee n awarded th e Nobel Pri ze, has seen hi s
wo rk republi shed in Poland , and has been welcomed bac k onto Poli sh so il
after years of exil e. Non e of thi s inva lidates the bi tterness o r the sweetness
of " The Wo rld ." Everythin g the sequ ence narrates takes place on thi s plan–
et perpetually: a child is bo rn, he loves the wo rld , the wo rld is taken away ,
he poeti cally reconstitutes the wo rld . What matters is whether the world
he w ri tes can tally th e wo rld that was:
If one day our words
Comc so close to the ba rk of trees in th e fo rest,
And to orange blossoms, that they becomc one with th em,
It will mean that we have always defended a great hope.
N o poet dares say " I have done it: th e real wo rld has entered th e word–
wo rld ." T hat aim remains "a great hope" guiding the poe t's pen . But the
reader can say to the poet, as the child 's fa ther says to hi s chose n autho r,
"For ages you will remain perfec t / Like your book drawn by th ought
from no thingness ." From no thingness, a book perfect at las t. From frag–
ments, a world perfect at las t.
In
a note
to
hi s
Collected Poe/liS,
Mil osz quo tes a passage fr om Adam
Mi cki ewicz: "Wh oever has not to uched the ea rth will neve r be in heav–
en ." "The World " is a tes timony to that apho ri sm , and to o ne of Mil osz's
own: that th e spiri t of consciousness " kn ows th e ideal shapes, respects order
/ In whi ch whatever exists must exist fo rever." That is why th e ultimate
rebuke to tyranny is the memo ry of tranquil existence. Tyrants have their
own plans fo r their victims:
