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Bells in Winter
Authorbio:
Czeslaw Milosz was born in Lithuania in 1911. His books of poetry in English include The Collected Poems, 1931-1987, Unattainable Earth, The Separate Notebooks, Provinces, Bells in Winter, and Selected Poems, all published by The Ecco, Press. He is a member of the American Academy and Institute of Arts and Letters and was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1980.
71 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1978
11 people are currently reading
317 people want to read
About the author
Czesław Miłosz
310 books885 followersCzesław Miłosz was a Nobel Prize winning poet and author of Polish-Lithuanian heritage. He memorialised his Lithuanian childhood in a 1955 novel,
The Issa Valley
, and in the 1959 memoir
Native Realm
. After graduating from Sigismund Augustus Gymnasium in Vilnius, he studied law at Stefan Batory University and in 1931 he travelled to Paris, where he was influenced by his distant cousin Oscar Milosz, a French poet of Lithuanian descent and a Swedenborgian. His first volume of poetry was published in 1934.
After receiving his law degree that year, he again spent a year in Paris on a fellowship. Upon returning, he worked as a commentator at Radio Wilno, but was dismissed, an action described as stemming from either his leftist views or for views overly sympathetic to Lithuania. Miłosz wrote all his poetry, fiction, and essays in Polish and translated the Old Testament Psalms into Polish.
Awarded the 1980 Nobel Prize in Literature for being an author "who with uncompromising clear-sightedness voices man's exposed condition in a world of severe conflicts."
After receiving his law degree that year, he again spent a year in Paris on a fellowship. Upon returning, he worked as a commentator at Radio Wilno, but was dismissed, an action described as stemming from either his leftist views or for views overly sympathetic to Lithuania. Miłosz wrote all his poetry, fiction, and essays in Polish and translated the Old Testament Psalms into Polish.
Awarded the 1980 Nobel Prize in Literature for being an author "who with uncompromising clear-sightedness voices man's exposed condition in a world of severe conflicts."
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Displaying 1 - 24 of 24 reviews
May 23, 2017
I can now add Czesław Miłosz to my list of favorite poets: Nizar Qabbani, Alice Walker, Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi, Nazim Hikmet, Mahmoud Darwish, Pablo Neruda, Naomi Shihab-Nye, Hafiz, Forough Farrokhzad, Alexander Pushkin, Lord Byron, and various classic haiku poets. Bells of Winter is pensive and beautiful poetry. I can see the times and places he describes in my mind's eye.
October 10, 2019
My wife who once attended a poetry reading in 1980's by Czesław Miłosz given at the Catholic University of Lublin (now the John Paul II Catholic University) found him to be a charming old gentleman who spoke Polish with the distinct accent of the Lithuanian nobility that had disappeared in Poland in the decade following the end of WWII and which Miłosz had retained because he had fled Poland in 1951. "Bells in Winter" provides an excellent taste of the poet and heroic dissident that my wife and the other undergraduates at the very progressive Catholic University of Lublin greatly admired.
One also finds in this volume the eccentric if not heretical Miłosz who had his share of critics among Polish Catholics. After his death in 2004, protestors tried to prevent his body from being interred in Kraków's historic Skałka church. John Paul II who was strongly in the Miłosz camp intervened to silence the protest and Miłosz's mortal remains now rest in the famous church.
"Bells in Winter" provides an excellent introduction to a brilliant poet who saw and commented on many terrible things that he witnessed close at hand. I think we can all be glad that it was his vision for Poland that finally emerged victorious.
One also finds in this volume the eccentric if not heretical Miłosz who had his share of critics among Polish Catholics. After his death in 2004, protestors tried to prevent his body from being interred in Kraków's historic Skałka church. John Paul II who was strongly in the Miłosz camp intervened to silence the protest and Miłosz's mortal remains now rest in the famous church.
"Bells in Winter" provides an excellent introduction to a brilliant poet who saw and commented on many terrible things that he witnessed close at hand. I think we can all be glad that it was his vision for Poland that finally emerged victorious.
November 15, 2020
And so, one morning. In biting frost,
All is cold and gray. And in that sleepy haze
A span of air suffused with carmine light.
Banks of snow, roadways made slippery by sleighs
Grow rosy. As do wisps of smoke, puffs of vapor.
Bells jingle nearby, then farther away, shaggy horses
Covered with hoarfrost, every hair distinct.
And then the pealing of bells. At Saint John's
And the Bernardines', at Saint Casimir's
And the Cathedral, at the Missionaries'
And Saint George's, at the Dominicans'
And Saint Nicholas's, at Saint Jacob's.
Many many bells. As if the hands pulling the ropes
Were building a huge edifice over the city.
So that Lisabeth wrapped up in her cape could go to morning Mass.
I have thought for a long time about Lisabeth's life.
I could count the years. But I prefer not to.
What are years, if I see the snow and her shoes,
Funny, pointed, buttoned on the side,
And I am the same, though the pride of the flesh
Has its beginning and its end.
All is cold and gray. And in that sleepy haze
A span of air suffused with carmine light.
Banks of snow, roadways made slippery by sleighs
Grow rosy. As do wisps of smoke, puffs of vapor.
Bells jingle nearby, then farther away, shaggy horses
Covered with hoarfrost, every hair distinct.
And then the pealing of bells. At Saint John's
And the Bernardines', at Saint Casimir's
And the Cathedral, at the Missionaries'
And Saint George's, at the Dominicans'
And Saint Nicholas's, at Saint Jacob's.
Many many bells. As if the hands pulling the ropes
Were building a huge edifice over the city.
So that Lisabeth wrapped up in her cape could go to morning Mass.
I have thought for a long time about Lisabeth's life.
I could count the years. But I prefer not to.
What are years, if I see the snow and her shoes,
Funny, pointed, buttoned on the side,
And I am the same, though the pride of the flesh
Has its beginning and its end.
Read
February 16, 2010With a flick of the wrist I fashioned an invisible rope,
And climbed it and it held me.
A slim volume of poems from 1978 (though the earliest here is dated 1936) by the great exiled Polish poet who won the Nobel Prize two years later. History, personal and otherwise; loneliness and mortality; memory and melancholy; all shot through with a wry humor, the author offering the following
Consolation
Calm down. Both your sins and your good deeds will be lost in oblivion.
And climbed it and it held me.
A slim volume of poems from 1978 (though the earliest here is dated 1936) by the great exiled Polish poet who won the Nobel Prize two years later. History, personal and otherwise; loneliness and mortality; memory and melancholy; all shot through with a wry humor, the author offering the following
Consolation
Calm down. Both your sins and your good deeds will be lost in oblivion.
August 30, 2015
This was my second book of poetry by Milosz. I can say now that as talented a poet as he is, his poems just don't resonate with me. I liked a few in this collection but disliked several others. I am glad I gave this Nobel-Laureate a second try but won't be reading any more of his work anytime soon.
December 31, 2017
A talented poet, I don’t recommend him for those who don’t know or don’t like poetry. Dense, lush work, he references so many things that can be hard for those without the same classical education: Latin, theology, Ancient Greek mythology. It’s an amazing bridge between classical and modern but difficult as a contemporary reader to understand.
And yet, his work is stirring. Because despite the references, he refers to universal experiences: memory, regret, and legacy.
If you want deeply lush and evocative poetry, he brings that in staggering lines. But despite the slim volume, he makes you work to access it.
And yet, his work is stirring. Because despite the references, he refers to universal experiences: memory, regret, and legacy.
If you want deeply lush and evocative poetry, he brings that in staggering lines. But despite the slim volume, he makes you work to access it.
June 14, 2023
Epitaph—
You who think of us: they lived only in delusion,
know that we, the People of the Book, will never die.
(from Notes)
This poetry collection is a stunning wrestling of Czeslaw Milosz with the self as poet. He is a Catholic Moses of the cold north: tongue-tied, self-effacing, yet called of God to be prophet of the Holocaust-wrecked Poles. His tone transforms throughout the book, starting naively and "in wonder" (from the first poem, "Encounter"), then growing bold in his own authority and acting as sibyl of the mid 1900s. There are poems where every line is its own self-contained sentence, as if he's receiving and transmitting messages one sentence at a time from God or an angel or a muse.
Then, slowly throughout the collection he becomes increasingly mistrusting of his own words and abilities and he struggles to hold faith in his role as poet-prophet. He makes beautiful and stark dialogues with himself (sometimes devil vs angel sides, sometimes spirit vs body) on his anxieties of art-making and death: whether his calling comes from God or earthly pride, if he will live forever through his work or if it is all vanity, how spirit is reconciled with body.
There are echoes of Yeats here in the prophetic portions:
- historian (prophet of the past as opposed to future), talk of 20 centuries as 20 days
- invoking a "beast"
- loneliness a solitary man in the desert
- Ozymandian dead empires
- soaring bird in sky as symbol of God or prophet/poet and the associated objective, eternal perspective
Traces of Wallace Stevens too:
- "Island" is a "mind of winter" poem
- interested in absence and lack of mirror in nature and in spaces like halls
- form is a defiance of nature/death
Though I said "tongue-tied" it's only because he would describe himself this way. Most of these poems feel clear and cutting. They are full of landscapes and sharp details and colors. His signature seems to be a big, ominous red dawn. He is self-referential at times but he gets away with it because he is completely serious. The stakes of poetry are very high to him, although he downplays it every now and then out of self-consciousness.
I would read these poems in order. The last line of the entire collection is cathartic and brilliant and requires reading everything else first.
You who think of us: they lived only in delusion,
know that we, the People of the Book, will never die.
(from Notes)
This poetry collection is a stunning wrestling of Czeslaw Milosz with the self as poet. He is a Catholic Moses of the cold north: tongue-tied, self-effacing, yet called of God to be prophet of the Holocaust-wrecked Poles. His tone transforms throughout the book, starting naively and "in wonder" (from the first poem, "Encounter"), then growing bold in his own authority and acting as sibyl of the mid 1900s. There are poems where every line is its own self-contained sentence, as if he's receiving and transmitting messages one sentence at a time from God or an angel or a muse.
Then, slowly throughout the collection he becomes increasingly mistrusting of his own words and abilities and he struggles to hold faith in his role as poet-prophet. He makes beautiful and stark dialogues with himself (sometimes devil vs angel sides, sometimes spirit vs body) on his anxieties of art-making and death: whether his calling comes from God or earthly pride, if he will live forever through his work or if it is all vanity, how spirit is reconciled with body.
There are echoes of Yeats here in the prophetic portions:
- historian (prophet of the past as opposed to future), talk of 20 centuries as 20 days
- invoking a "beast"
- loneliness a solitary man in the desert
- Ozymandian dead empires
- soaring bird in sky as symbol of God or prophet/poet and the associated objective, eternal perspective
Traces of Wallace Stevens too:
- "Island" is a "mind of winter" poem
- interested in absence and lack of mirror in nature and in spaces like halls
- form is a defiance of nature/death
Though I said "tongue-tied" it's only because he would describe himself this way. Most of these poems feel clear and cutting. They are full of landscapes and sharp details and colors. His signature seems to be a big, ominous red dawn. He is self-referential at times but he gets away with it because he is completely serious. The stakes of poetry are very high to him, although he downplays it every now and then out of self-consciousness.
I would read these poems in order. The last line of the entire collection is cathartic and brilliant and requires reading everything else first.
December 13, 2024
• A Metaphysical Collection that explores themes of time, mortality, religious spirituality and the search for meaning.
• The title symbolizes clarity and stillness, reflecting the harsh winter. Some poems are very short while most runs through pages like a dramatic conversation.
• Miłosz's poetry is rooted in Polish landscapes and traditions, transcending geographical, religious and cultural boundaries.
• The collection balances accessible imagery with intellectual complexity, creating a unique tension.The use of metaphor and allegory is masterful, evoking a sense of timelessness and universality.
• The tone alternates between elegiac and celebratory, underscoring Miłosz's dual roles as a witness to history and a seeker of spiritual truths.
• I personally enjoyed very few poems from this collection, but would recommend to anyone who has the interest in intersections of poetry, philosophy, and history. This is something the should read with attention due to its high metaphors.
• ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎ ⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.
• The title symbolizes clarity and stillness, reflecting the harsh winter. Some poems are very short while most runs through pages like a dramatic conversation.
• Miłosz's poetry is rooted in Polish landscapes and traditions, transcending geographical, religious and cultural boundaries.
• The collection balances accessible imagery with intellectual complexity, creating a unique tension.The use of metaphor and allegory is masterful, evoking a sense of timelessness and universality.
• The tone alternates between elegiac and celebratory, underscoring Miłosz's dual roles as a witness to history and a seeker of spiritual truths.
• I personally enjoyed very few poems from this collection, but would recommend to anyone who has the interest in intersections of poetry, philosophy, and history. This is something the should read with attention due to its high metaphors.
• ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎ ⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.
April 12, 2023
I think the translation of this collection from Russian only makes it more beautiful.
My favorite poem was "A Frivolous Conversation" where two people talk about life's hardship. The first says,
"My past is a stupid butterfly's overseas voyage... what do I have, with all my pain and rebellion?"
The other replies, "Take a moment, just one, and when its fine shell, two joined palms, slowly opens, What do you see?"
The first, with reflection, says, "A pearl, a second... a star saved from time.... the earth, the sky and the sea, richly cargoed ships, Spring morning full of dew and faraway princedoms.
"At marvels displayed in tranquil glory I look and do not desire for I am content" (pg. 4).
Milosz creates many beautiful images that cause us to stop and consider how we fit into the larger story of history, good and bad.
My favorite poem was "A Frivolous Conversation" where two people talk about life's hardship. The first says,
"My past is a stupid butterfly's overseas voyage... what do I have, with all my pain and rebellion?"
The other replies, "Take a moment, just one, and when its fine shell, two joined palms, slowly opens, What do you see?"
The first, with reflection, says, "A pearl, a second... a star saved from time.... the earth, the sky and the sea, richly cargoed ships, Spring morning full of dew and faraway princedoms.
"At marvels displayed in tranquil glory I look and do not desire for I am content" (pg. 4).
Milosz creates many beautiful images that cause us to stop and consider how we fit into the larger story of history, good and bad.
February 10, 2018
This collection of poems is shorter than Road-Side Dog, and the poems are longer, but I gravitated more toward the barrage of epigrams and pith of the previous collection. This one seems more "normal," like what one would expect of poetry, but it also may have demanded more close reading from me. By saying "more normal," I'm setting the norm to Nobel-Prize-winning poetry, so take that as you will. Just not as many post-its in this one than in the previous one. Two poems stand out: "Ars Poetica?," one of the best descriptions of inspiration I've encountered, and "From the Chronicles of the Town of Pornic," for its strong sense of place and groundedness in history.
May 9, 2021
Too advanced for me
November 22, 2023
Poems are a new genre for me, but I truly enjoyed how each poem is a small story. The flow of the language is exquisite!
July 20, 2024
“Not that I want to be a god or a hero/ just to change into a tree, grow for ages, not hurt anyone”
September 22, 2024
to make present what is gone
December 31, 2024
Church ethics myths memory society purpose nature plants death spirituality search for meaning
December 28, 2025
I found a lot of inspiring quotes for my novel ssurprisingly. I love his style.
January 30, 2026
Found in the Peuc library — a gem
February 17, 2026
Superb, evocative, dreamy - like all Milosz. The title here is actually taken from the last part of a long poem (at 36 pages, certainly the longest Milosz poem I've read), and it is saturated with overtones of "The Waste Land." A knowledge of history is important here, because it is always present in Milosz's thinking. He refers to things - fables and mythology, actual people or events - with which I'm not familiar.
And always there is this great ability Milosz has to be both weighty and light at once. I don't know any other poet who can do this. These poems were first published in the mid-1970s, and throughout them he muses about his own role, the poet's role, and his lust for fame is both a serious driving force and something he pokes fun at.
It's also amazing how good his poetry is in English (this collection is translated by Milosz and Lillian Vallee). Probably my favorite Milosz book outside his "Collected Poems."
As mentioned, "Bells in Winter" is Part VI of a poem called "From the Rising of the Sun." He hits all his themes, as it runs in his own life from Poland and Eastern Europe to San Francisco, where he was teaching at Berkeley. It has humor, some of the gallows, Latin, wonderful imagery - everything you would want in poetry. And, as always, Milosz muses on his life, on fame, and the role of a poet.
In Part I, "The Unveiling":
"This time I am frightened. Odious rhythmic speech
Which grooms itself and, of its own accord, moves on.
Even if I wanted to stop it, weak as I am from fever,
Because of a flu like the last one that brought mournful revelations
When, looking at the futility of my ardent years,
I heard a storm from the Pacific beating against the window.
But no, gird up your loins, pretend to be brave to the end
Because of daylight and the neighing of the red horse."
The long Part II, "Diary of a Naturalist" also has stretches of prose as does "Over Cities," Part III. Then, in Part V, "The Accuser," Milosz burrows in on himself and mortality.
"You don't like this subject. Fine. Let's change it then.
What about those medieval dialogues before daybreak.
My most gracious and honorable body,
I, your soul, you declaim, I command you:
It's time to get up, check the date.
There are many tasks to be done today.
Serve me a little longer, just a bit.
I don't know what is going on in your dark tunnels,
At what moment you'll deny and overthrow me,
On what day your cosmos will congeal and collapse.
And you hear in reply: a bone cracks,
Murky blood grumbles, accelerates its rhythm,
Pain answers close in sign language,
A megalithic gurgle, whisper, indictments.
Confess, you hated your body,
Loving it with unrequited love. It has not fulfilled
Your high expectations. As if you were chained to
Some little animal in perpetual unrest,
Or worse, a madman, and a Slavic one at that."
I love the way he finishes that dark, brooding stuff with a joke! And I think he gets at something universal when he writes, a few lines later,
"The so-called sights of the earth. But not many.
You started on a journey and are not sated."
At the end of "The Accuser" (which seems to be Milosz himself), he writes:
"- Yet I have learned how to live with my grief.
- As if putting words together has been of help.
- Not true, there were others, grace and beauty,
I bowed to them, revered them,
I brought them my gifts.
- And all you do is repeat:
If only there were enough time.
If only there were enough time."
(That last there also brings Eliot to mind and his repeated "Hurry up, please, it's time.")
"From the Rising of the Sun" is shot through with religion, primarily the Roman Catholicism of Milosz's native Poland, and after wrestling with his faith, his work, his life and loves, Milosz comes to a kind of waffling conclusion, one in which he offers some optimism with black humor. He is in the hills of Marin County, looking at San Franciso through fog:
"And if the city, there below, was consumed by fire
Together with the cities of all the continents,
I would not say with my mouth of ashes that it was unjust.
For we lived under Judgement, unaware.
Which Judgement began in the year one thousand seven hundred fifty-
seven,
Though not for certain, perhaps in some other year.
It shall come to completion in the sixth millennium, or next Tuesday,
The demiurge's workshop will suddenly be stilled. Unimaginable silence.
And the form of every single grain will be restored in glory.
I was judged for my despair because I was unable to understand this."
Just page after page of terrific poetry here. Highly recommended.
And always there is this great ability Milosz has to be both weighty and light at once. I don't know any other poet who can do this. These poems were first published in the mid-1970s, and throughout them he muses about his own role, the poet's role, and his lust for fame is both a serious driving force and something he pokes fun at.
It's also amazing how good his poetry is in English (this collection is translated by Milosz and Lillian Vallee). Probably my favorite Milosz book outside his "Collected Poems."
As mentioned, "Bells in Winter" is Part VI of a poem called "From the Rising of the Sun." He hits all his themes, as it runs in his own life from Poland and Eastern Europe to San Francisco, where he was teaching at Berkeley. It has humor, some of the gallows, Latin, wonderful imagery - everything you would want in poetry. And, as always, Milosz muses on his life, on fame, and the role of a poet.
In Part I, "The Unveiling":
"This time I am frightened. Odious rhythmic speech
Which grooms itself and, of its own accord, moves on.
Even if I wanted to stop it, weak as I am from fever,
Because of a flu like the last one that brought mournful revelations
When, looking at the futility of my ardent years,
I heard a storm from the Pacific beating against the window.
But no, gird up your loins, pretend to be brave to the end
Because of daylight and the neighing of the red horse."
The long Part II, "Diary of a Naturalist" also has stretches of prose as does "Over Cities," Part III. Then, in Part V, "The Accuser," Milosz burrows in on himself and mortality.
"You don't like this subject. Fine. Let's change it then.
What about those medieval dialogues before daybreak.
My most gracious and honorable body,
I, your soul, you declaim, I command you:
It's time to get up, check the date.
There are many tasks to be done today.
Serve me a little longer, just a bit.
I don't know what is going on in your dark tunnels,
At what moment you'll deny and overthrow me,
On what day your cosmos will congeal and collapse.
And you hear in reply: a bone cracks,
Murky blood grumbles, accelerates its rhythm,
Pain answers close in sign language,
A megalithic gurgle, whisper, indictments.
Confess, you hated your body,
Loving it with unrequited love. It has not fulfilled
Your high expectations. As if you were chained to
Some little animal in perpetual unrest,
Or worse, a madman, and a Slavic one at that."
I love the way he finishes that dark, brooding stuff with a joke! And I think he gets at something universal when he writes, a few lines later,
"The so-called sights of the earth. But not many.
You started on a journey and are not sated."
At the end of "The Accuser" (which seems to be Milosz himself), he writes:
"- Yet I have learned how to live with my grief.
- As if putting words together has been of help.
- Not true, there were others, grace and beauty,
I bowed to them, revered them,
I brought them my gifts.
- And all you do is repeat:
If only there were enough time.
If only there were enough time."
(That last there also brings Eliot to mind and his repeated "Hurry up, please, it's time.")
"From the Rising of the Sun" is shot through with religion, primarily the Roman Catholicism of Milosz's native Poland, and after wrestling with his faith, his work, his life and loves, Milosz comes to a kind of waffling conclusion, one in which he offers some optimism with black humor. He is in the hills of Marin County, looking at San Franciso through fog:
"And if the city, there below, was consumed by fire
Together with the cities of all the continents,
I would not say with my mouth of ashes that it was unjust.
For we lived under Judgement, unaware.
Which Judgement began in the year one thousand seven hundred fifty-
seven,
Though not for certain, perhaps in some other year.
It shall come to completion in the sixth millennium, or next Tuesday,
The demiurge's workshop will suddenly be stilled. Unimaginable silence.
And the form of every single grain will be restored in glory.
I was judged for my despair because I was unable to understand this."
Just page after page of terrific poetry here. Highly recommended.
June 10, 2008
'Not that I want to be a god or a hero.
Just to change into a tree, grow for ages, not hurt anyone.'
Just to change into a tree, grow for ages, not hurt anyone.'
August 31, 2008
I wish I could read it in Polish.
November 28, 2009
This is the most beautiful, moving collection of poems that I have ever read.
February 3, 2010
just really not my kind of thing
May 27, 2012
Only Milosz can make deep philosophical statements sound like tender love poems. Beautiful and thought-provoking. He is my hero.
March 8, 2009
My favorite book of poems from this poet (one of my favorite poets). Beautiful and wise.
Displaying 1 - 24 of 24 reviews