Not reviewed. Not well remembered. ( )

Milosz's poetry touches on a myriad of topics. There are echoes of childhood, listening to a mother softly climb the shadowy stairs or watching a father quietly read in the library. There are a series of poems that lovingly describe a house and its inhabitants. Linked poetry that are meant to be read hand in hand with the next. ( )

I can't help but think that a flash of light is still a flash of light. People breath in the light and settle themselves in the rubbish. They take their coarse phases and smooth them out at night. They bite out the dirt that's under their fingernails. They don't apologize. Why should they? They are in the disappearing of the country. They look back and there is the trace.