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 Waiting for the End of the WorldA series of songs to poems by Czeslaw Milosz, for solo voice, vocal ensemble and electronics. 
After Paradise lyrics: Czeslaw Milosz music: Jarek Kordaczuk performers: Basia Raduszkiewicz (vocal) ProForma Vocal Ensemble Jarek Kordaczuk (electronics, monoctone) City of My Youth lyrics: Czeslaw Milosz music: Jarek Kordaczuk performers: Basia Raduszkiewicz (vocal) ProForma Vocal Ensemble Jarek Kordaczuk (EWI) Meaning lyrics: Czeslaw Milosz music: Jarek Kordaczuk performers (a cappella): Basia Raduszkiewicz (vocal) ProForma Vocal Ensemble An Alcoholic orginal title: An Alcoholic Enters the Gates of Heaven lyrics: Czeslaw Milosz music: Jarek Kordaczuk performers: Basia Raduszkiewicz (vocal) ProForma Vocal Ensemble Jarek Kordaczuk (fortepian, elektronika) So Little lyrics: Czeslaw Milosz music: Jarek Kordaczuk performers (a cappella): Basia Raduszkiewicz (vocal) ProForma Vocal Ensemble Faith-Hope-Love lyrics: Czeslaw Milosz music: Jarek Kordaczuk performers: Basia Raduszkiewicz (vocal) ProForma Vocal Ensemble Jarek Kordaczuk (monoctone, electronics) A song on the End of the World lyrics: Czeslaw Milosz music: Jarek Kordaczuk performers: Basia Raduszkiewicz (vocal) ProForma Vocal Ensemble Jarek Kordaczuk (electronics, piano) 
 Don't run any more. Quiet. How softly it rains on the roofs of the city. How perfect all things are Perfect Now, for the two of you waking up in a royal bed by a garret window. For a man and a woman. For one plant divided into masculine and feminine which longed for each other. Perfect Is this your gift? Yes, this is my gift to you. Above ashes? Yes, above ashes. Above the subterranean echo? Yes, above the subterranean echo of clamorings and vows. So that now at dawn you must be attentive the tilt of a head, a hand with a comb, two faces in a mirror are only forever once, even if unremembered, so that you watch what it is, though it fades away, and are grateful every moment for your being. Let that little park with greenish marble busts in the pearl-gray light, under a summer drizzle, remain as it was when you opened the gate. And the street of tall peeling porticos which this love of yours suddenly transformed. It would be more decorous not to live. To live is not decorous, says he who after many years returned to the city of his youth. There was no one left of those who once walked these streets. And now they had nothing, except his eyes. Stumbling, he walked and looked, instead of them, on the light they had loved, on the lilacs again in bloom. His legs were, after all, more perfect than nonexistent legs. His lungs breathed in air as is usual with the living. His heart was beating, beating Surprising him with its beating, in his body their blood flowed, his arteries fed them with oxygen. He felt, inside, their livers, spleens, intestines. Masculinity and femininity, elapsed, met in him And every shame, every grief, every love. It would be more decorous not to live. To live is not decorous, says he who after many years returned to the city of his youth. There was no one left of those who once walked these streets. And now they had nothing, except his eyes. Stumbling, he walked and looked, instead of them, on the light they had loved, on the lilacs again in bloom. His legs were, after all, more perfect than nonexistent legs. His lungs breathed in air as is usual with the living. His heart was beating, beating Surprising him with its beating, in his body their blood flowed, his arteries fed them with oxygen. He felt, inside, their livers, spleens, intestines. Masculinity and femininity, elapsed, met in him And every shame, every grief, every love. It would be more decorous not to live. To live is not decorous, says he who after many years returned to the city of his youth. There was no one left of those who once walked these streets. And now they had nothing, except his eyes. Stumbling, he walked and looked, instead of them, on the light they had loved, on the lilacs again in bloom. His legs were, after all, more perfect than nonexistent legs. His lungs breathed in air as is usual with the living. His heart was beating, beating Surprising him with its beating, in his body their blood flowed, his arteries fed them with oxygen. He felt, inside, their livers, spleens, intestines. Masculinity and femininity, elapsed, met in him And every shame, every grief, every love. If ever we accede to enlightenment, he thought, it is in one compassionate moment when what separated them from me vanishes And a shower of drops from a bunch of lilacs Pours on my face, and his, and hers, at the same time. When I die When I die When I die, I will see the lining of the world. The other side, beyond bird, mountain, sunset. The true meaning, ready to be decoded. What never added up will add up What was incomprehensible will be comprehended. And if... And if And if And if there is no lining to the world? If a thrush on a branch is not a sign, but just a thrush on the branch? If night and day make no sense following each other? And on this earth there is nothing except this earth? Even if that is so... Even if that is so Even if that is so Even if that is so Even if that is so, there will remain a word wakened by lips that perish, a tireless messenger who runs and runs through interstellar fields, through the revolving galaxies What kind of man I was to be you've known since the beginning, since the beginning of every creature. It must be horrible to be aware, simultaneously, of what is, what was, and what will be. I began my life confident and happy, certain that the Sun rose every day for me and that flowers opened for me every morning. I ran all day in an enchanted garden. enchanted Not suspecting that you had picked me from the Book of Genes for another experiment altogether. As if there were not proof enough that free will is useless against destiny. Under your amused glance I suffered like a caterpillar impaled on the spike of a blackthorn. The terror of the world opened itself to me. The terror of the world Could I have avoided escape into illusion? Into a liquor which stopped the chattering of teeth and melted the burning ball in my breast and made me think I could live like others? I realized I was wandering from hope to hope and I asked you, All Knowing, why you torture me. Is it a trial like Job?s, so that I call faith a phantom and say: You are not, nor do your verdicts exist, and the earth is ruled by accident? Who can contemplate simultaneous, a-billion-times-multiplied pain? It seems to me that people who cannot believe in you deserve your praise. But perhaps because you were overwhelmed by pity, you descended to the earth to experience the condition of mortal creatures. Bore the pain of crucifixion for a sin, but committed by whom? I pray to you, for I do not know how not to pray. Because my heart desires you, I said so little. Short days. I said so little. Short nights. I said so little. Short years. Short days, short nights, short years. I said so little. So little, I couldn't keep up. So little, I couldn't keep up. You couldn't keep up I said so little. Short days. I said so little. Short nights. I said so little. My heart grew weary from joy, despair, ardor, hope. My heart grew weary The jaws of Leviathan were closing upon me. Naked, I lay on the shores of desert islands. The white whale of the world hauled me down to its pit. And now I don't know what in all that was real. I don't know The word Faith means when some sees a dew-drop or a floating leaf, and knows that they are, because they have to be. And even if you dreamed, or closed your eyes and wished, the world would still be what it was, and the leaf would still be carried down the river. It means that when someone's foot is hurt by a sharp rock, he also knows that rocks are here so they can hurt our feet. Look, see the long shadow cast by the tree; and flowers and people throw shadows on the earth: What has no shadow has no strength to live. Hope is with you when you believe the earth is not a dream but living flesh, that sight, touch, and hearing do not lie, that all things you have ever seen here are like a garden looked at from a gate. You cannot enter but you're sure it's there. Could we but look more clearly and wisely we might discover somewhere in the garden a strange new flower and an unnamed star. Some people say we should not trust our eyes, that there is nothing, just a seeming, these are the ones who have no hope. They think that the moment we turn away, the world, behind our backs, ceases to exist, as if snatched up by the hands of thieves. Love means to learn to look at yourself the way one looks at distant things for you are only one thing among many. And whoever sees that way heals his heart, without knowing it, from various ills- a bird and a tree say to him: Friend. Friend... Then he wants to use himself and things so that they stand in the glow of ripeness. It doesn't matter whether he knows what he serves: Who serves best
Czesław Miłosz After Paradise Don't run any more. Quiet. How softly it rains On the roofs of the city. How perfect All things are. Now, for the two of you Waking up in a royal bed by a garret window. For a man and a woman. For one plant divided Into masculine and feminine which longed for each other. Yes, this is my gift to you. Above ashes On a bitter, bitter earth. Above the subterranean Echo of clamorings and vows. So that now at dawn You must be attentive: the tilt of a head, A hand with a comb, two faces in a mirror Are only forever once, even if unremembered, So that you watch what it is, though it fades away, And are grateful every moment for your being. Let that little park with greenish marble busts In the pearl-gray light, under a summer drizzle, Remain as it was when you opened the gate. And the street of tall peeling porticos Which this love of yours suddenly transformed.
Czesław Miłosz City of My Youth It would be more decorous not to live. To live is not decorous, Says he who after many years Returned to the city of his youth. There was no one left Of those who once walked these streets. And now they had nothing, except his eyes. Stumbling, he walked and looked, instead of them, On the light they had loved, on the lilacs again in bloom. His legs were, after all, more perfect Than nonexistent legs. His lungs breathed in air As is usual with the living. His heart was beating, Surprising him with its beating, in his body Their blood flowed, his arteries fed them with oxygen. He felt, inside, their livers, spleens, intestines. Masculinity and femininity, elapsed, met in him And every shame, every grief, every love. If ever we accede to enlightenment, He thought, it is in one compassionate moment When what separated them from me vanishes And a shower of drops from a bunch of lilacs Pours on my face, and hers, and his, at the same time.
Czesław Miłosz Meaning - When I die, I Will see the lining of the world. The other side, beyond bird, mountain, sunset. The true meaning, ready to be decoded. What never added up will add Up, What was incomprehensible will be comprehended. - And if there is no lining to the world? If a thrush on a branch is not a sign, But just a thrush on the branch? If night and day Make no sense following each other? And on this earth there is nothing except this earth? - Even if that is so, there will remain A word wakened by lips that perish, A tireless messenger who runs and runs Through interstellar fields, through the revolving galaxies, And calls out, protests, screams.
Czesław Miłosz An Alcoholic Enters the Gates of Heaven What kind of man I was to be you?ve known since the beginning, since the beginning of every creature. It must be horrible to be aware, simultaneously, of what is, what was, and what will be. I began my life confident and happy, certain that the Sun rose every day for me and that flowers opened for me every morning. I ran all day in an enchanted garden. Not suspecting that you had picked me from the Book of Genes for another experiment altogether. As if there were not proof enough that free will is useless against destiny. Under your amused glance I suffered like a caterpillar impaled on the spike of a blackthorn. The terror of the world opened itself to me. Could I have avoided escape into illusion? Into a liquor which stopped the chattering of teeth and melted the burning ball in my breast and made me think I could live like others? I realized I was wandering from hope to hope and I asked you, All Knowing, why you torture me. Is it a trial like Job?s, so that I call faith a phantom and say: You are not, nor do your verdicts exist, and the earth is ruled by accident? Who can contemplate simultaneous, a-billion-times-multiplied pain? It seems to me that people who cannot believe in you deserve our praise. But perhaps because you were overwhelmed by pity, you descended to the earth to experience the condition of mortal creatures. Bore the pain of crucifixion for a sin, but committed by whom? I pray to you, for I do not know how not to pray. Because my heart desires you, though I do not believe you would cure me. And so it must be, that those who suffer will continue to suffer, praising your name.
Czesław Miłosz So Little I said so little. Days were short. Short days. Short nights. Short years. I said so little. I couldn't keep up. My heart grew weary From joy, Despair, Ardor, Hope. The jaws of Leviathan Were closing upon me. Naked, I lay on the shores Of desert islands. The white whale of the world Hauled me down to its pit. And now I don't know What in all that was real.
Czesław Miłosz Faith The word Faith means when some sees A dew-drop or a floating leaf, and knows That they are, because they have to be. And even if you dreamed, or closed your eyes And wished, the world would still be what it was, And the leaf would still be carried down the river. It means that when someone's foot is hurt By a sharp rock, he also knows that rocks Are here so they can hurt our feet. Look, see the long shadow cast by the tree; And flowers and people throw shadows on the earth: What has no shadow has no strength to live. Hope Hope is with you when you believe The earth is not a dream but living flesh, That sight, touch, and hearing do not lie, That all things you have ever seen here Are like a garden looked at from a gate. You cannot enter. But you're sure it's there. Could we but look more clearly and wisely We might discover somewhere in the garden A strange new flower and an unnamed star. Some people say we should not trust our eyes, That there is nothing, just a seeming, These are the ones who have no hope. They think that the moment we turn away, The world, behind our backs, ceases to exist, As if snatched up by the hands of thieves. Love Love means to learn to look at yourself The way one looks at distant things For you are only one thing among many. And whoever sees that way heals his heart, Without knowing it, from various ills- A bird and a tree say to him: Friend. Then he wants to use himself and things So that they stand in the glow of ripeness. It doesn't matter whether he knows what he serves: Who serves best doesn't always understand.
Czesław Miłosz A Song on the End of the World On the day the world ends A bee circles a clover, A Fisherman mends a glimmering net. Happy porpoises jump in the sea, By the rainspout young sparrows are playing And the snake is gold-skinned as it it should always be. On the day the world ends Women walk through fields under their umbrellas A drunkard grows sleepy at the edge of a lawn, Vegetable peddlers shout in the street And a yellow-sailed boat comes nearer the island, The voice of a violin lasts in the air And leads into a starry night. And those who expected lightning and thunder Are disappointed. And those who expected signs and archangels' trumps Do not believe it is happening now. As long as the sun and the moon are above, As long as the bumblebee visits a rose As long as rosy infants are born No one believes it is happening now. Only a white-haired old man, who would be a prophet, Yet is not a prophet, for he's much too busy, Repeats while he binds his tomatoes: No other end of the world there will be, No other end of the world there will be.
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