I am in the middle of it: chaos and poetry; poetry and love and again, complete chaos. Pain, disorder, occasional clarity; and at the bottom of it all: only love; poetry. Sheer enchantment, fear, humiliation. It all comes with love. — Anna Akhmatova, The Akhmatova Journals, Volume I: 1938-1941 (Farrar Straus & Giroux (T); 1st… Continue reading Anna Akhmatova
Wild Oats Watching the first sunlight touch the tops of the palms what could I ask All the beads have gone from the old string and the string does not miss them The daughters of memory never pronounce their own names In the language of heaven the angel said go make your own garden I… Continue reading W.S. Merwin
The deeper sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain. — Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet. (Rupa [Educa Books] April 14, 2003) Originallly published 1923.
Womanly, a shadow combed Her dark tremendous hair beyond the violet border Of my sleep. Strong passionate hands I had, but could not find The red position of her heart, not the subtle order Of her lips and breasts, nor the breathing cities of her mind. — Stanley Kunitz, from “Poem,” The Collected Poems (W.… Continue reading Stanley Kunitz
My solitude doesn’t depend on the presence or absence of people; on the contrary, I hate who steals my solitude without, in exchange, offering me true company. —Friedrich Nietzsche
It has rained for five days running the world is a round puddle of sunless water where small islands are only beginning to cope a young boy in my garden is bailing out water from his flower patch when I ask him why he tells me young seeds that have not seen sun forget and… Continue reading Audre Lorde
It was she whom I loved and whom I could not therefore see without that anxiety, without that desire for something more, which destroys in us, in the presence of the person we love, the sensation of loving.” ― Marcel Proust, Remembrance of Things Past, Part 2 – Within a Budding Grove, Vol. 2 (NBM… Continue reading Marcel Proust