Air is air. Its vacancy glitters round us everywhere. Its sounds are not angelic syllables But our unfashioned spirits realized More sharply in more furious selves. — Wallace Stevens, from “Evening Without Angels,” Selected Poems. (Knopf; Reprint edition February 8, 2011) Originally
I have no house only a shadow. But whenever you are in need of a shadow, my shadow is yours. — Malcolm Lowry, Under the Volcano. (HarpPerenM; 1st Perennial Classics ed edition April 26, 2000) Originally published 1947.
Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here, And you must treat it as a powerful stranger, Must ask permission to know it and be known. The forest breathes. Listen. It answers, I have made this place around you. If you leave it, you may… Continue reading David Wagoner
It’s hard to tell the difference between sea and sky, between voyager and sea. Between reality and the workings of the heart. —Haruki Murakami, Kafka on The Shore (Alfred A. Knopf, 2005)
dying should come easy: like a freight train you don’t hear when your back is turned. —Charles Bukowski, from “A Summation,” New Poems Book Three. (Virgin Books May 6, 2004)
We cross our bridges as we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and the presumption that once our eyes watered. —Tom Stoppard, Rosencratz and Guildenstern Are Dead, (Grove Press; Reprint edition January 21, 1994) Originally published 1966.
Ars Poetica? I have always aspired to a more spacious form that would be free from the claims of poetry or prose and would let us understand each other without exposing the author or reader to sublime agonies. In the very essence of poetry there is something indecent: a thing… Continue reading Czeslaw Milosz