The true poet is all the time a visionary and whether with friends or not, as much alone as a man on his death bed. — W.B. Yeats
The Summer Day Who made the world? Who made the swan, and the black bear? Who made the grasshopper? This grasshopper, I mean- the one who has flung herself out of the grass, the one who is eating sugar out of my hand, who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and… Continue reading Mary Oliver
And the night smells like snow. / Walking home for a moment / you almost believe you could start again. / And an intense love rushes to your heart, / and hope. It’s unendurable, unendurable. —Franz Wright, from “Night Walk,” God’s Silence. (Knopf; y First printing edition March 21, 2006)
good weather is like good women— it doesn’t always happen and when it does it doesn’t always last. — Charles Bukowski, from “Cows in Art Class,” Poems written before jumping out of an 8 story window. (Litmus : distributed by Cosmic Aeroplane; [1st ed. with correspondence edition 1975) Originally published January 1st 1974.
It was the time of year, the time of day, for a small insistent sadness to pass into the texture of things. Dusk, silence, iron chill. Something lonely in the bone. ― Don DeLillo, White Noise. (Penguin Books June 1, 1999) Originally published 1985.
… my whole sky craves an island of tenderness. My rivers tilt towards you. — Marina Tsvetaeva, from “My ear attends to you,” Selected Poems, (Penguin Classics, 1994)