Death folds the corners of my mouth into a heart-shaped star. It sits on my tongue like a stone around which your name blossoms distorted. — Audre Lorde, from “Speechless,” The Collected Poems of Audre Lorde. (W. W. Norton & Company; Reprint edition February 17, 2000)
The story is underway. The aforementioned pre-sarcastic-interruption is because this man, in whom the instincts and inclinations are so strong and pure, is completely unable to control these strong and pure instincts and inclinations. What invariably happens is that the man meets a halfway or even quarterway desirable woman, and he immediately falls head over… Continue reading David Foster Wallace
Forgotten things grasped at things to be forgotten… — Paul Celan, from “Pain, the Syllable,” Paul Celan: Glottal Stop, 101 Poems, translated by Nikolai Popov and Heather McHugh (Hanover and London: WesleyanUniversity Press, 2000).
Here, the walls are made of moon and stars, and each breath is mingled with tender coolness like a shiver from lips to lips. — Pauline Albanese, The Closed Doors. (CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform; 1 edition October 3, 2015)
This is the solstice, the still point of the sun, its cusp and midnight, the year’s threshold and unlocking, where the past lets go of and becomes the future; the place of caught breath… — Margaret Atwood, from “Shapechangers in Winter,” Eating Fire: Selected Poetry 1965-1995. (Virago Press Ltd October 1, 1998)
In deep sadness there is no place for sentimentality. It is as final as the mountains: a fact. There it is. When you realize it you cannot complain. ― William S. Burroughs, Queer. (Viking Press November 1985)
Sestina of the Lady Pietra degli Scrovigni I have come, alas, to the great circle of shadow, to the short day and to the whitening hills, when the colour is all lost from the grass, though my desire will not lose its green, so rooted is it in this hardest stone, that speaks and feels… Continue reading Dante Alighieri