I Sleep A Lot by Czeslaw Milosz

I Sleep A Lot by Czeslaw Milosz and ‘Golden Gate Bridge from the other side’ by Helen McNulty 2008

Czeslaw Milosz’s poetry was a great part of my life in the early 2010s when Polish Theatre Ireland created a performance for the Dublin Fringe Festival called Chesslaugh Mewash which used his poetry and profile as a spring board for the text.
I read his poetry with ferocity at that time and still dip in every year to the pages of my many Milosz books.
I Sleep A Lot really resonates with me. Perhaps because San Francisco was a really formative place for me in my late twenties where I wrote a lot of poetry and spent a lot of time alone.

Here are the words for you to read aloud.


I sleep a lot and read St. Thomas Aquinas
Or The Death of God (that’s a Protestant book).
To the right the bay as if molten tin,
Beyond the bay, city, beyond the city, ocean,
Beyond the ocean, ocean, till Japan.
To the left dry hills with white grass,
Beyond the hills an irrigated valley where rice is grown,
Beyond the valley, mountains and Ponderosa pines,
Beyond the mountains, desert and sheep.

When I couldn’t do without alcohol, I drove myself on alcohol,
When I couldn’t do without cigarettes and coffee, I drove myself
On cigarettes and coffee.
I was courageous. Industrious. Nearly a model of virtue.
But that is good for nothing.

I feel a pain.
not here. Even I don’t know.
many islands and continents,
words, bazaars, wooden flutes,
Or too much drinking to the mirror, without beauty,
Though one was to be a kind of archangel
Or a Saint George, over there, on St. George Street.
Please, Doctor,
Not here. No,
Maybe it’s too
Unpronounced

Please, Medicine Man, I feel a pain.
I always believed in spells and incantations.
Sure, women have only one, Catholic, soul,
But we have two. When you start to dance
You visit remote pueblos in your sleep
And even lands you have never seen.
Put on, I beg you, charms made of feathers,
Now it’s time to help one of your own.
I have read many books but I don’t believe them.
When it hurts we return to the banks of certain rivers.

I remember those crosses with chiseled suns and moons
And wizards, how they worked during an outbreak of typhus.
Send your second soul beyond the mountains, beyond time.
Tell me what you saw, I will wait.

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