I am the sea too, and the stars, the wind and the rain, I am everything that has form — for form is my seeing of it. I am every sound — for sound is my hearing of it, I am all flavours, each perfume, whatever can be touched, For that which is perceptible is … Continue reading
“Listen: I am ideally happy. My happiness is a kind of challenge. As I wander along the streets and the squares and the paths by the canal, absently sensing the lips of dampness through my worn soles, I carry proudly my ineffable happiness. The centuries will roll by, and schoolboys will yawn over the history … Continue reading
dragonfly hunter how far has he traveled today I wonder? Chiyo-ni Said to be written after the death of her son. Her only child. . Fukuda Chiyo-ni (Kaga no Chiyo) (福田 千代尼; 1703 – 2 October 1775) was a Japanese poet of the Edo period, widely regarded as one of the greatest female haiku poets. … Continue reading
Now it’s jazz, the place is roaring, all beautiful girls in there, one mad brunette at the bar drunk with her boys. One strange chick I remember from somewhere, wearing a simple skirt with pockets, her hands in there, short haircut, slouched, talking to everybody. Up and down the stairs they come. The bartenders are … Continue reading
Dans la source de tes yeux vivent les nasses des pêcheurs de la mer délirante. Dans la source de tes yeux la mer tient sa parole. J’y jette, cœur qui a séjourné chez des humains, les vêtements que je portais et l’éclat d’un serment : Plus noir au fond du noir, je suis plus nu. … Continue reading
These images, selected from Mary Jacoubs book Reading Cy Twombly: Poetry in Paint, indicate the range and provocation of Cy Twombly’s works on canvas and paper, pointing especially to his inventive use of literary quotation and allusion throughout his long career and his relation to poetry as an inspiration for his art. GEORGE SEFERIS, “THREE … Continue reading
Glass with Rose The state that we describe with the word distractions is perhaps only another form of attention, its symmetrical and more profound manifestation located in another region of the psyche: an attention directed from or through or even toward that more profound region. It is not unusual for the subjects of such distraction … Continue reading
The romance of Camus and Casares is richer, if not sadder, when considered alongside the narratives of each of their work. There is an eerie doubling of life and art. Absurdity is the only certainty, and this is confirmed over and over again by coincidence and chance. The two first met on June 6, 1944, the storied … Continue reading
When the beetle sees, it is I that am looking, When the nightingale sings, it is I that am singing, When the lion roars, it is I that am roaring. But when I look for myself, I can see nothing — for no thing is there to be seen. Síle cannot see me either, for when … Continue reading
BLANCHE: I don’t want realism. I want magic! [Mitch laughs] Yes, yes, magic! I try to give that to people. I misrepresent things to them. I don’t tell truth, I tell what ought to be truth. And if that is sinful, then let me be damned for it!–Don’t turn the light on! [Mitch crosses to … Continue reading
The Street Across the street, the carpenter carries a golden board across one shoulder, much as he bears the burdens of his life. Dressed in white, his only weakness is temptation. Now he builds another wall to screen him. The little girl pursues her bad red ball, hits it once with her blue racket, hits … Continue reading
A Child of Our Time is a secular oratorio by the British composer Michael Tippett (1905–98), who also wrote the libretto. Composed between 1939 and 1941, it was first performed at the Adelphi Theatre, London, on 19 March 1944. The work was inspired by events that affected Tippett profoundly: the assassination in 1938 of a German diplomat by a young Jewish refugee, … Continue reading
My far distant happiness which makes me aware of my true misery: a lumpy road plunging into a hollow where it scatters a handful of huts: a tireless road charging at full speed towards a hill at whose top it is brutally drowned in a stagnant pool of dwarfish houses, a road madly climbing, recklessly … Continue reading
Some time when the river is ice ask me mistakes I have made. Ask me whether what I have done is my life. Others have come in their slow way into my thought, and some have tried to help or to hurt: ask me what difference their strongest love or hate has made. I will … Continue reading
Pardon, oui, pardon. Je viens de dire« pardon», en français. Vous n’y comprenez sans doute rien, pour le moment. «Pardon.» C’est un mot, « pardon », ce mot est un nom : on dit « un pardon »; « le pardon ». C’est un nom de la langue française. On en trouve l’équivalent homonymique, à … Continue reading