American Culture · American Literature · Contemporary · Online Magazine · Online Review · Periodical · Poetry

Linda Pastan

Consider the Space between Stars Consider the white space between words on a page, not just the margins around them. Or the space between thoughts: instants when the mind is inventing exactly what it thinks and the mouth waits to be filled with language. Consider the space between lovers after a quarrel, the white sheet… Continue reading Linda Pastan

Rate this:

Bulgarian-French Culture · Bulgarian-French Literature · Classic · Critisism · Essay · Excerpt · Literary Critisism · Non-fiction · Paraphrase · Passage · Philosophy · Psychology · Quote · Theory

Julia Kristeva

When the starry sky, a vista of open seas, or a stained-glass window shedding purple beams fascinate me, there is a cluster of meaning, of colors, of words, of caresses, there are light touches, scents, sighs, cadences that arise, shroud me, carry me away, and sweep me beyond the things I see, hear, or think.… Continue reading Julia Kristeva

Rate this:

Classic · Collection · Decadent Movement · Excerpt · Fragment · French Culture · French Literature · Modernism · Passage · Poetry · Symbolism

Charles Baudelaire

I prefer to African wines, to opium, to burgundy, The elixir of your mouth where love parades itself; When my desires leave in caravan for you, Your eyes are the reservoir where my cares drink. — Charles Baudelaire, from “Sed Non Satiata,” Fleurs du mal / Flowers of Evil. Translated by Geoffrey Wagner. (David R.… Continue reading Charles Baudelaire

Rate this:

British Culture · British Literature · Classic · Dominican Culture · Excerpt · Fiction · Modernism · Novel · Paraphrase · Passage · Postmodernism · Quote

Jean Rhys

It was like letting go and falling back into water and seeing yourself grinning up through the water, your face like a mask, and seeing the bubbles coming up as if you were trying to speak from under the water. And how do you know what it’s like to try to speak from under water… Continue reading Jean Rhys

Rate this:

American Culture · American Literature · Collection · Contemporary · Poetry

Simone Muench

after Neruda a bronze song, something undone, salvia, a crushed butterfly. It is the blood on a light bulb, the seventh sadness, a fluctuation that closes oceans and eyes. The vermilion and solitary luminary shimmies and singes the feathers of the aviary. Moon, the clock’s word, dear mother, ruin, rain. — Simone Muench, “Elegy for… Continue reading Simone Muench

Rate this: