It is June. I am tired of being brave. — Anne Sexton, from “The Truth The Dead Know,” The Complete Poems. (Mariner Books; 1st edition April 28, 1999) Originally published September 30th 1981.
Aubade with a Broken Neck The first night you don’t come home summer rains shake the clematis. I bury the dead moth 1 found in our bed, scratch up a rutabaga and eat it rough with dirt. The dog finds me and presents between his gentle teeth a twitching nightjar. In her panic, she sings… Continue reading Traci Brimhall
And still I stood looking at the house, thinking how happy I should be if I lived there with her, and knowing that I never was happy with her, but always miserable. ― Charles Dickens, Great Expectations. (Chapman & Hall; Serialized 1860-1; book form 1861)
I should have loved a thunderbird instead; At least when spring comes they roar back again. I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. (I think I made you up inside my head.) ― Sylvia Plath, from “Mad Girl’s Love Song.” Generally included in the biographical note appended to The Bell Jar. (Harper… Continue reading Sylvia Plath
I am naked and a beggar and an atom in the vortex of humanity. ― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Idiot. (Modern Library, April 8, 2003) Originally published 1868.
Rise like Lions after slumber In unvanquishable number- Shake your chains to earth like dew Which in sleep had fallen on you Ye are many-they are few. ― Percy Bysshe Shelley, from The Masque of Anarchy: Written on Occasion of the Massacre at Manchester. (1819)
Jim Jarmusch once told me Fast, Cheap, and Good… pick two. If it’s fast and cheap it won’t be good. If it’s cheap and good, it won’t be fast. If it’s fast and good, it won’t be cheap. Fast, cheap and good … pick two words to live by. —Tom Waits, Tom Waits on Tom… Continue reading Tom Waits
I have travelled so far to remember Nothing of my former life, though perhaps that is Truly best. I’ve left everything I’ve ever known To come here, to stand in the shape of your shadow. — David St. John, from section “XVI. A Traveller” of “Nocturnes & Aubades,” The Red Leaves of Night (HarperFlamingo, 1999)
I am not well; I could have built the Pyramids with the effort it takes me to cling on to life and reason. — Franz Kafka, Letters To Felice. ( Schocken; Pbk ed. edition December 6, 2016) Originally published 1967.
Just ahead of dawn, the wall was like a silken drape near a silver light: keeping nothing out, keeping nothing in. — Cindy St. Onge, from “Resurrection (An Aubade),” Dappled Things (10.3, SS. Peter and Paul, 2015.)