March 2012
6 tags
I came to realize that far more important to me than any plot or conventional...
– Ben Lerner, Leaving the Atocha Station (via booksijustread)
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You would think
the sea was blind
to me as I stare out,
deaf to the dull...
– Heidy Steidlmayer, from “Scylla”
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I suppose it’s pointless to think of you at all.
– Sylvia Plath, from “Parliament Hill Fields”
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There is the world—
Storm-windowed, or curtained in the summer wind—
That I...
– Randall Jarrell, from “Windows”
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There is nothing that controls our thoughts
more than what we think we see,...
– Cole Swensen, from “In a Garden of Numbers”
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Sorrow comes in great waves—no one can know that better than you—but it rolls...
– Henry James, from a letter to Grace Norton, dated 28 July 1883 (via litverv and Letters of Note)
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Do not articulate what the ocean
Turning in its bed thinks: What must be said.
– Dan Beachy-Quick, from “Exegesis of the First Words Spoken (Ishmael)”
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let’s track green dots on trees
our own operation of marking up...
– Megan Kaminski, from “Untitled”
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Tonight I think
no poetry
will serve
– Adrienne Rich, from “Tonight No Poetry Will Serve”
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And I won’t tell you where it is, so why do I tell you
anything? Because...
– Adrienne Rich, from “What Kind of Times are These”
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Though lost I love
Love unburied lies
– Susan Howe, from “Silence Wager Stories”
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I push my big grey wet snout through the green,
Dreaming the flower I have...
– Thom Gunn, from “Moly”
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As my eyes search the prairie
I feel the summer in the spring.
– Anonymous, “Spring Song,” trans. Frances Densmore
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I knew that he had assassinated the sea, for his hands were stained blue.
– Rafael Pérez Estrada, from “Chronicle of the Rain,” trans. Steven J. Stewart
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Am I in love?—yes, since I am waiting. The other one never waits.
– Roland Barthes, A Lover’s Discourse, trans. Richard Howard
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The first movement is singing,
A free voice, filling mountains and valleys....
– Czeslaw Milosz, from “The Poor Poet”
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Don’t say it’s the beautiful
I praise. I praise the human,
gutted...
– Katie Ford, from “Song After Sadness”
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Weep if you must, but board what falls
Away, abdomens flaring—
The brief,...
– Neil Fischer, from “[As if the moon could haul through you]”
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After great pain, a formal feeling comes—
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like...
– Emily Dickinson, from “[372]”
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Why is even pleasure a kind of chore?
– Patrizia Valduga, from One Hundred Quatrains, trans. Geoffrey Brock
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In my room, the world is beyond my understanding;
But when I walk I see that it...
– Wallace Stevens, from “Of the Surface of Things”
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I’ve been thinking of how I might engage pendulation—the movement between...
– Bhanu Kapil, from “What is Experimental Literature?”
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I can’t hear your voice
for the wind’s cries, whistling over the...
– Louise Glück, from “October (Section I)”
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I claim the insignificant, the vital—
this river, these fish. I claim
this is...
– Brian D. Morrison, from “Lungful”
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it does not help much to recall
how unlikely it is that we
turned up here with...
– W. S. Merwin, from “To the Unlikely Event” in Present Company
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I want to see the thirst
inside the syllables
I want to touch the fire
in the...
– Pablo Neruda, from “Verb,” trans. T.M. Lauth Etiquetas
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Can you hear what I’m thinking, from there, even as you sleep?
– Michael Palmer, from “Company of Moths”
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And see how the flesh grows back
across a wound, with a great vehemence,
more...
– Jane Hirshfield, from “For What Binds Us”
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Don’t grieve for what doesn’t come.
Some things that don’t...
– Rumi, The Book of Love, trans. Coleman Barks
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I know red and yellow, the other colors,—
but the sea, det granna granna...
– Edith Södergran, from “Strange Sea,” trans. Averill Curdy
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But since bringing things together is a metaphor, and sensation implies a body,...
– Julia Kristeva, Proust and the Sense of Time, trans. Stephen Bann
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For I spoke not but the magician played me tricks of the blood.
– Anne Sexton, from O Ye Tongues in Complete Poems
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but who can distinguish
one human voice
amid such choruses
of desire
– Lucille Clifton, from “sorrows”
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There are silences harder to take back than words.
– James Richardson (via chantellowitz182)
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Solitude has soft, silky hands, but with strong fingers it grasps the heart and...
– Kahlil Gibran, Broken Wings