“When we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy.” For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere … Continue reading
From the window I see her bend to the rosesholding close to the bloom so as not toprick her fingers. With the other hand she clips, pauses andclips, more alone in the worldthan I had known. She won’tlook up, not now. She’s alonewith roses and with something else I can only think, notsay. I know … Continue reading
Be a person here. Stand by the river, invokethe owls. Invoke winter, then spring.Let any season that wants to come here make its owncall. After that sound goes away, wait. A slow bubble rises through the earthand begins to include sky, stars, all space,even the outracing, expanding thought.Come back and hear the little sound again. … Continue reading
“The Imperfect is Our Paradise ” Wallace Stevens Continue reading
The night is only a sort of carbon paper,Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of starsLetting in the light, peephole after peephole . . .A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.Under the eyes of the stars and the moon’s rictusHe suffers his desert pillow, sleeplessnessStretching its fine, irritating sand in all directions. Over and over … Continue reading
I am too close for him to dream of me.I don’t flutter over him, don’t flee himbeneath the roots of trees. I am too close.The caught fish doesn’t sing with my voice.The ring doesn’t roll from my finger.I am too close. The great house is on firewithout me calling for help. Too closefor one of … Continue reading
On January 20, 2021, Youth Poet Laureate Amanda Gorman paid homage to Angelou by greeting the new morning. Continue reading
2 [untitled] She wants to speak, but I know what she is. She believes love is death—even if everything devoid of love disgusts her. Since her love makes her innocent, why should she speak? Mistress of the Castle, her fingers play upon mirrors of pronouns. With every word I write I remember the void … Continue reading
When I pronounce the word Future, the first syllable already belongs to the past. When I pronounce the word Silence, I destroy it. When I pronounce the word Nothing, I make something no non-being can hold. By Wislawa Szymborska Translated by S. Baranczak & C. Cavanagh Wislawa Szymborska The Nobel Prize in Literature 1996 … Continue reading
God speaks to each of us as he makes us, then walks with us silently out of the night. These are the words we dimly hear: You, sent out beyond your recall, go to the limits of your longing. Embody me. Flare up like a flame and make big shadows I can move in. Let … Continue reading
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society where none intrudes, By the deep Sea, and music in its roar: I love not Man the less, but Nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be, or have … Continue reading
— too much too little or too late too fat too thin or too bad laughter or tears or immaculate unconcern haters lovers armies running through streets of pain waving wine bottles bayoneting and fucking everyone or an old guy in a cheap quiet room with a photograph of Marilyn Monroe. there is a loneliness … Continue reading
All night I hear the noise of water sobbing. All night I make night in me, I make the day that begins on my account, that sobs because day falls like water through night. All night I hear the voice of someone seeking me out. All night you abandon me slowly like the water that … Continue reading
1 I don’t believe in omens or fear Forebodings. I flee from neither slander Nor from poison. Death does not exist. Everyone’s immortal. Everything is too. No point in fearing death at seventeen, Or seventy. There’s only here and now, and light; Neither death, nor darkness, exists. We’re all already on the seashore; I’m one … Continue reading
Anna Karina, the Danish-born actress who became a symbol of the French New Wave in Jean Luc Godard’s 1960s films, died on Saturday in Paris. She was 79. In Jean-Luc Godard’s futuristic detective movie Alphaville (1965) there is a famous scene in which Natacha (Anna Karina) recites some lines of poetry. She is holding a copy of … Continue reading