Woke up early this morning and from my bed looked far across the Strait to see a small boat moving through the choppy water, a single running light on. Remembered my friend who used to shout his dead wife’s name from hilltops around Perugia. Who set a plate for her at his simple table long… Continue reading Raymond Carver
Someday death will take us to another star. — Vincent van Gogh
Chariots of copper and of silver – Prows of silver and steel – Thresh upon the foam, – Upheave the stumps and brambles. The currents of the heath, And the enormous ruts of the ebb, Flow circularly toward the east, Toward the pillars of the forest, – Toward the boles of the jetty, Against whose… Continue reading Arthur Rimbaud
We read to know we’re not alone. ― William Nicholson, Shadowlands. (Plume (November 28, 1991) Originally published 1989.
Love has crept into her sealed heart As a field bee, black and amber, Breaks into the winter-cell, to clamber Up the warm grass where the sunbeams start. — D. H. Lawrence, from “Song (“Love has crept…”),” Poetry (December 1914)
…and love, as an act, lacks a verb. ― Joseph Brodsky, from “I Sit By The Window,” Collected Poems in English. (Farrar, Straus and Giroux; Reprint edition April 1, 2002)