Truth About Love I apologize for not being Gandhi or Tom the mailman who is always kind. He makes his way every day no matter the mood of the sky with our words in a sack and Gandhi made the English give India back without taking a gun for a wife. My… Continue reading Bob Hicok
I went to bed and woke in the middle of the night thinking I heard someone cry, thinking I myself was weeping, and I felt my face and it was dry. Then I looked at the window and thought: Why, yes, it’s just the rain, the rain, always the rain, and turned over, sadder still,… Continue reading Ray Bradbury
The woman is not just a pleasure, nor even a problem. She is a meniscus that allows the absolute to have a shape, that lets him skate however briefly on the mystery, her presence luminous on the ordinary and grand. — Jack Gilbert, from “A Fact,” The Dance Most of All (Alfred A. Knopf, 2009)
Everything that is dead quivers. Not only the things of poetry, stars, moon, wood, flowers, but even a white trouser button glittering out of a puddle in the street… Everything has a secret soul, which is silent more often than it speaks. ― Wassily Kandinsky
Float through me like you mean it, that’s what this is about. Eat this cake like you’re starving, that’s what I want. Wash over me like a hurricane. I need something more than clean. — Alexis Pope, from “A No Good Thunderstorm,” Fourteen Hills (vol. 20, no. 1, 2013)
She awakens first at the touch of love; before that time she is a dream, yet in her dream life we can distinguish two stages: in the first, love dreams about her; in the second, she dreams about love. — Søren Kierkegaard, The Seducer’s Diary. (Princeton University Press August 18, 1997) Originally published 1843.
Out of long nails I weld limbs for my new body. Out of old rags, my entrails. A coat of carrion will be my coat of solitude. I pluck my eye from the depths of the marsh. Out of the devoured plates of disgust I will build my hut. My world will be a world… Continue reading Tomaž Šalamun