I became interested in Czeslaw Milosz thanks to the Venezuelan poet Rafael Cadenas, who in the 80's told us about the extraordinary Polish poetry (he also introduced us to Zbigniew Herbert), in a conversation that took place in Cumaná. A lot of time went by, and then I could barely read a few poems in magazines and literary papers. I could never have one of his books in Spanish (and I tried several ways!). Milosz was, therefore, for some time, a beloved poet in absence. Better: he was one of those "consciences" (I suppose it has happened to you) that you want to know because there is "something" in his work that you intuit must be fundamental in your life.
In one of his poems, which I keep in digital archives, I read:

Never from you, city, I have been able to leave.
The mile was long, but something was going backwards like a
piece in chess.
I was fleeing by the land that rolled faster and faster
And I've always been there: with the books in my canvas backpack.

He, who lived the condition of exile until his death, transmits it with an incomparable emotion decanted by memory.
Thank you for bringing us this excellent and dear poet, @nancybriti.