It is possible to affirm, without any bias or any intention to indulge in paradoxes, that for nearly a hundred years the world has not produced one single poet, I mean, a true poet, deserving to be compared to one of those big rivers equally hospitable to barges and gilded galleys, magnificently carrying in their impetuous and deep waters the better and the worse, fertile silt and sand, but always moving in a sovereign rythm and flow that on the whole provides an image of the fixity of things divine and of the passing of generations.

Oscar Milosz in «A few words on Poetry»