KRAKOW, POLAND — During A late night in Krakow, nonagenarian Nobel laureate Czeslaw Milosz was tipping back the vodka with Jerzy Illg, editor in chief at his Polish publishing house, Znak. Late in the evening, a touchy topic dropped on the table: Where would Milosz like to be buried?
Should his final resting place be with his mother, in a city near Gdansk? Illg dismissed the notion outright. "Who will light a candle for you there?" he asked.
Should he be buried instead in his beloved homeland, Lithuania -- perhaps in Vilnius, the city of his youth?
Illg proposed the famous cemetery in the Salwator district of Krakow. Many poets and critics were buried on the hilltop graveyard. It would provide "good company and a good view."
When, sometime later, Illg told Bronislaw Maj about this conversation, the younger poet chided him. Milosz had been fishing for the obvious answer, the mollifying answer: Wawel, the ancient castle/cathedral complex at the very heart of Krakow. Poland's leading poets are honored there -- Norwid, Slowacki and, of course, the nation's ur-poet, Adam Mickiewicz, another Polish-speaking Lithuanian. "Of course it was a joke," Illg recalls, "but it has a deep truth."
This "deep truth" embraces the ambiguities left after the 2004 death of Milosz, who had one of the most contentious burials in recent memory. Demonstrations were preempted only by a personal message from Pope John Paul II. What a contrast with the poet's quiet decades in Berkeley as a professor. He had said, after receiving the 1980 Nobel Prize for literature, "I want to return to my quiet ways." Then why, 20 years later, did he move to Krakow, where he was treated like a rock star? The answer is many-stranded: Krakow was the culmination of a journey that was spiritual as well as geographical.
Krakow, as Illg's anecdote reminds us, was not Milosz's city. But according to Agnieszka Kosinska, the poet's assistant for eight years, "The most important thing is that Krakow resembles Vilnius very much." Milosz was drawn to architecture, atmosphere and old friends. "These are the people with whom he had a thousand discussions, a thousand literary evenings," says Kosinska.
Moreover, in 1993, he was given honorary citizenship in Krakow, with an apartment on Boguslawskiego, one block from Planty, the park that circles the city where the medieval walls used to stand.
On the surface, the dingy gray brick building where Milosz spent his final years doesn't seem like a great swap. His cottage on Grizzly Peak in Berkeley had abundant flowers, privacy, a stunning view and California weather.
But this was the home of his mother tongue. He wrote tirelessly, adhering to a rigorous schedule into his 90s. "Milosz is the only poet, as far as I know, who wrote all the time, continuously, for 80 years," says Joanna Zach, assistant professor at Jagiellonian University and author of "Milosz's Search for Self." Zach helped Milosz and his American wife, Carol, resettle. Carol remodeled the apartment so it had the homey feel of Grizzly Peak -- complete with an old TV, Milosz's Powerbook and the magnifying glass that accommodated his deteriorating eyesight.
Milosz returned to America only once. In the summer of 2002, he flew to San Francisco, where Carol was being treated for bone marrow cancer. "The real catastrophe was her sudden death," explains Aleksander Fiut, interlocutor for "Conversations With Czeslaw Milosz." "He was extremely depressed after her death. Before, he was able to laugh. After, sometimes he smiled."
When Znak published Milosz's final collection, "Druga Przestrzen" ("Second Space") in 2002, the poet inscribed Illg's copy: "To the ferryman who takes Carol to the other shore."
Charon is a characteristically pagan nuance. Milosz found the Catholic Church's nationalistic trends repugnant, although he regularly attended St. Idzi's, an 11th century church at the foot of Wawel. According to Kosinska, the last few years demonstrated his ars moriendi.
"He prepared himself as much as he could," she says. "Czeslaw really wanted to die. He prepared for the moment. He finished his eternal business."
Milosz's journey led him to a young Dominican priest named Father Zbigniew Krysiewicz, who describes their relationship this way: "We have met on a quite inexplicable ground which was his own way back to God. Somehow by accident, it was me who had accompanied him till the very end. . . . It is hard to say why."
One reason is self-evident: He was the priest at St. Idzi's, where English Masses were offered, and Carol preferred Mass in a language she could understand.