…we thought we were talking about a certain light through the window of an empty room, a light beyond the wet black trunks of trees in this leafless forest just before spring, a certain loss. Margaret Atwood, from “Two-Headed Poems,” Two-Headed Poems. (Simon & Schuster March 9, 1981)
I am only true when I’m alone. ― Clarice Lispector, The Hour of the Star. (New Directions; Reissue edition February 17, 1992) Originally published January 1st 1975.
Lilichka! (Instead of a Letter) Tobacco smoke eats the air away. The room,— a chapter from Kruchenykh’s Inferno. Recall,— by the window, that day, I caressed you ecstatically, with fervor. Here you sit now, with your heart in iron armor. In a day, you’ll scold me perhaps and tell me to leave. Frenzied, my trembling… Continue reading Vladimir Mayakovsky
What is more dangerous than to become a poet? which is, as some say, an incurable and infectious disease. — Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote. Published by Francisco de Robles 1605 (Part One), 1615 (Part Two). Published in English 1612 (Part One), 1620 (Part Two).
But life is made of such fragile moments & we recognize them we feel them happening we feel them slipping fast away. — Nate Pritts, from “Life Event,” BOAAT (Vol. 2)
Let’s call my mood melancholy; let’s call it remembrance. Or maybe let’s call it longing. Yes, let’s call it longing instead. ― Shannon Celebi, Small Town Demons. (CFH May 1, 2014)
Instant coffee with slightly sour cream in it, and a phone call to the beyond which doesn’t seem to be coming any nearer. “Ah daddy, I wanna stay drunk many days” on the poetry of a new friend my life held precariously in the seeing hands of others, their and my impossibilities. Is this love,… Continue reading Frank O’Hara