74
PART ISAN R EVIEW
Prague and read a biography of h er and we nt to th e house wh ere she lived ,
I
began to have a se nse of her as a p erson and as a rem arkable h eroin e. She
was a terrifi cally brave C zech journali st who died in a concentration camp.
So I wanted to write a poem in tribute to her, paying tribute to Kafka.
Thank you for attendin g thi s tribute to love.
I prese nt myself to you as a Czech journali st
and translator-and also as a modern woman
who has recogni zed th e cru elty of our ce ntury.
Thus far it has been a ca lami tous century;
I haven't los t my vital optimi slll as a woman
or my curiosity as a practi cing journali st,
but tonight's lec ture is an obituary for love
beca use Franz Kafka-th e writer- has died . [. . .
1
H ere 's a strange and wo nd erful poem by Mil osz ca ll ed " And t he C ity
Sto od in its Brightness." lRead s poem.] Thi s is a poem th at Adam and I
both love, " Mittelbergh eim ."
It
was w ritte n in Alsace in 19 51 .
Win e sleeps in casks o f
I~hin e
oa k.
I am wa kened by th e bel l of a chapel in the vineya rds
Of Mittelbergheim. I hea r a small spring
Tricklin g into a well in th e yard , a clatter
Of sabots in th e streets. Tobacco drying
Under th e eaves, and pl oughs and woodell wheels
And mountain slopes and autumn are with l1l e.
I keep my eyes closed . Do not ru sh me,
You, fire, power, might, fo r it is too ea rl y.
I have lived through Illany yea rs and , as in thi s half-dream,
I felt I was attaining th e moving fi'ontier
Beyond whi ch color and so un d cO l1l e tru e
And the thin gs of this ea rth are uni ted .
Do not yet force me to ope n my
Ii
ps.
Let me trust and beli eve I will attain .
Let me linger here in Mittelbergheim.
I kn ow I should . They are with 1lle,
Autumn and wooden wheels and tobacco hung
Under th e eaves. Here and everywhere
Is my homeland , wherever I turn
