On a visit to Poland, to read A Garden Carried in a Pocket: Letters 1964-1968, the correspondence of Guy Davenport and Jonathan Williams, is to be doubly exiled from one’s customary world. Casual exchanges of conversation call for patience and imagination. The Poles I’ve met have been intelligent, polite, amiable and without exception more fluent in English than I am in Polish. They invariably express pleasure when I throw in a shaky kawa, Jak się masz? or Dziękuję. Making oneself understood without ambiguity or insult challenges self-centered laziness. Speaking with Poles, I feel not anxious but revitalized, despite lingering jet lag.