Sestina 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 as though it were a woman.… Continue reading Dante Alighieri
Where would I go, if I could go, who would I be, if I could be, what would I say, if I had a voice, who says this, saying it’s me? — Samuel Beckett, Stories and Texts for Nothing: Texts for Nothing #4. (Grove Press December 1, 2007)
I imagine my love breathing with the lungs of all things and it reaches me as poetry of roses or dust speaks softly to everything and whispers its news to the universe the way the wind and sun do when they split nature’s breast or pour the ink of day on the earth’s book —… Continue reading Adonis
When I saw him look at me with lust, I dropped my eyes but, in glancing away from him, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. And I saw myself, suddenly, as he saw me… And, for the first time in my innocent and confined life, I sensed in myself a potentiality for corruption… Continue reading Angela Carter
On foot I had to cross the solar system before I found the first thread of my red dress. I sense myself already. Somewhere in space hangs my heart, shaking in the void, from it stream sparks into other intemperate hearts.” — Edith Södergran, “On Foot I Had to Cross the Solar System”
One evening, I sat Beauty in my lap. — And I found her bitter. — And I reviled her. — Arthur Rimbaud, A Season in Hell: Prologue. Originally published in 1873 by French writer Arthur Rimbaud. It is the only work that was published by Rimbaud himself.
O You, Who came upon me once Stretched under apple-trees just after bathing, Why did you not strangle me before speaking Rather than fill me with the wild white honey of your words And then leave me to the mercy Of the forest bees. Amy Lowell, “Carrefour,” Originally published in Coterie: A Quarterly: Art, Prose,… Continue reading Amy Lowell