The Rain All night the sound had come back again, and again falls this quiet, persistent rain. What am I to myself that must be remembered, insisted upon so often? Is it that never the ease, even the hardness, of rain falling will have for me something other than this, something not… Continue reading Robert Creeley
But love is what we want, not freedom. Who then is the unluckier man? The beloved, who is given his heart’s desire and must for ever after fear its loss, or the free man, with his unlooked-for liberty, naked and alone between the captive armies of the earth?” ― Salman Rushdie, The Ground Beneath Her… Continue reading Salman Rushdie
It is not about the spirit. The spirit dances, comes and goes. But the soul is nailed to us like lentils and fatty bacon lodged under the ribs. What lasted is what the soul ate. — Jack Gilbert, from “The Spirit and the Soul,” The Great Fires: Poems 1982-1992 (Alfred A. Knopf, 1995)
Life on earth means: the sprouting of wings. ― Nikos Kazantzakis, The Last Temptation of Christ. (Simon & Schuster; Reprint edition March 1, 1998) Originally published 1952.
These days of only poems and depression— what can I do with them? Will they help me notice what I cannot bear to look at? — Robert Lowell, from “Notice,” Day by Day. (Farrar, Straus & Giroux; 1st edition August 1977)
I meet you. I remember you. Who are you? You’re destroying me. You’re good for me. How could I know this city was tailor-made for love? How could I know you fit my body like a glove? I like you. How unlikely. I like you. How slow all of a sudden. How sweet. You cannot… Continue reading Marguerite Duras
it’s moments like this – you can feel it happening – that you grow transformed partly into something else strange and unimaginable— so when death comes it can only take part of you —Charles Bukowski, from “8 Count Concerto,” What Matters Most Is How Well You Walk Through The Fire. (Ecco; 1 edition June 1,… Continue reading Charles Bukowski