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Literature

This category contains 82 posts

Alejandra Pizarnik: She wants to speak…

  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

Wislawa Szymborska: The three oddest words

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

Go to the Limits of Your Longing – Rainer Maria Rilke

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

The crunch: Charles Bukowski

— 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

Alejandra Pizarnik “All night I hear the noise of water sobbing”

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

Wei Wu Wei: “For Sile” / Shōmei Tōmatsu

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

Vladimir Nabokov “A Letter That Never Reached Russia”

“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

Fukuda Chiyo-ni: one of the greatest poets of haiku

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

The Beat Generation – Jack Kerouac

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

Éloge du lointain: Paul Celan

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

Glass with Rose: Julio Cortázar

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

Illicit Love Letters: Albert Camus and Maria Casares

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

“For Sile” Wei Wu Wei / Saul Leiter

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

Return to My Native Land: Aimé Césaire

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

By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept : Paulo Coelho

But he went on. “For the past two weeks, I haven’t been able to stand the sadness in my soul. I went to my superior and told him what was happening to me. I told him about my love for you and what had begun when we were taking the inventory.” A light rain began … Continue reading

The Meek One: Fyodor Dostoyevsky / Ian Webb

Only five minutes too late But is it really? is it really probable? Can one really say that it was possible? Why, for what reason did this woman die? oh, believe me, I understand; but why she died is still a question. She was frightened of my love, she asked herself seriously whether she should … Continue reading

The unbearable lightness of being – Milan Kundera

The priest intoned words in a singsong voice, and the people repeated them after him in unison. It was a litany. The same words kept coming back, like a wanderer who cannot tear his eyes away from the countryside or like a man who cannot take leave of life. She sat in one of the … Continue reading

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