He spoke of human solitude, of the intrinsic loneliness of a sophisticated mind, one that’s capable of reason and poetry, but which grasps at straws when it comes to understanding another, A mind aware of the impossibility of absolute understanding.. The difficulty of having a mind that understands that it’ll never be understood. — Nicole… Continue reading Nicole Krauss
Other times when I hear the wind blow I feel that just hearing the wind blow makes it worth being born. ― Fernando Pessoa, The Collected Poems of Alberto Caeiro. (Shearsman Books October 1, 2007) Originally published September 20th 1957.
The eye is always caught by light, but shadows have more to say. ― Gregory Maguire, Mirror Mirror. (ReganBooks September 28, 2004) Originally published October 14th 2003.
Sometimes, When the Light Sometimes, when the light strikes at odd angles and pulls you back into childhood and you are passing a crumbling mansion completely hidden behind old willows or an empty convent guarded by hemlocks and giant firs standing hip to hip, you know again that behind that wall, under the uncut hair… Continue reading Lisel Mueller
As I grew older, I understood that instructions came with this voice. What were these instructions? The instructions were never to lament casually. And if one is to express the great inevitable defeat that awaits us all, it must be done within the strict confines of dignity and beauty. — Leonard Cohen
Remember the moments when we were together in a white room and the curtain fluttered. Return in thought to the concert where music flared. You gathered acorns in the park in autumn and leaves eddied over the earth’s scars. Praise the mutilated world and the gray feather a thrush lost, and the gentle light that… Continue reading Adam Zagajewski
From space, astronauts can see people making love as a tiny speck of light. Not light, exactly, but a glow that could be mistaken for light–a coital radiance that takes generations to pour like honey through the darkness to the astronaut’s eyes. In about one and a half centuries–after the lovers who made the glow… Continue reading Jonathan Safran Foer
Suddenly it seems memory is impossible. Who can say what fills the coffin of the moment? Are we, then, like moths at a candle, glowing longer than life is left in us? I don’t know how much longer it is possible to stay in a poem like this one, sifting through the ashes of the… Continue reading Richard Jackson
Dolly said that when she was a girl she’d liked to wake up winter mornings and hear her father singing as he went about the house building fires; after he was old, after he’d died, she sometimes heard his songs in the field of Indian grass. Wind, Catherine said; and Dolly told her: But the… Continue reading Truman Capote
Until it’s over each day unfolds, un- evenly, the way the hand-dipped candle flames: first, the brief explosion of the struck match and the tall bright burning down of wick. Then long periods of steady flaming. But every now and then the light stabs upward into farther reaches of darkness and shows the shape of… Continue reading Kate Daniels