Now That I Am in Madrid I Can Think I think of you and the continents brilliant and arid and the slender heart you are sharing my share of with the American air as the lungs I have felt sonorously subside slowly greet each morning and your brown lashes flutter revealing two perfect dawns colored… Continue reading Frank O’Hara
I want you to believe…to believe in things that you cannot. ― Bram Stoker, Dracula. (W. W. Norton & Company; 1st edition, December 17, 1996) Originally published May 26th 1897.
No sleep, not tonight. The window blazes. Over the city, fireworks soar and explode. No sleep: too much has gone on. Rows of books stand vigil above you. You’ll brood on what’s happened and what hasn’t. No sleep, not tonight. Your inflamed eyelids will rebel, your fiery eyes sting, your heart swell with remembrance. No… Continue reading Adam Zagajewski
[O]nly death can get us out of this and maybe not even death. Maybe it’s too late; we’ll carry this deterioration with us to the next life. — Philip K. Dick, Dr. Bloodmoney. (Vintage; Reprint edition, May 14, 2002) Originally published 1965.
“Who is the third who walks always beside you? When I count, there are only you and I together But when I look ahead up the white road There is always another one walking beside you Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded I do not know whether a man or a woman —But who… Continue reading T.S. Eliot
I cannot capture your grace in words; I am profoundly enchanted by the flowing complexity in you. — John Keats, in a letter to Fanny Brawne dated 5 Novemeber 1820
Everything is plundered, betrayed, sold, Death’s great black wing scrapes the air, Misery gnaws to the bone. Why then do we not despair? By day, from the surrounding woods, cherries blow summer into town; at night the deep transparent skies glitter with new galaxies. And the miraculous comes so close to the ruined, dirty houses—… Continue reading Anna Akhmatova
I can recover my calm by living the metaphors of the ocean. — Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space. (Beacon Press; Reprint edition, April 1, 1994) Originally published 1057.
It is all in the mind, you say, and has nothing to do with happiness. The coming of cold, the coming of heat, the mind has all the time in the world. You take my arm and say something will happen, something unusual for which we were always prepared, like the sun arriving after a… Continue reading Mark Strand
…we grope through languages and hesitate and touch each other, speechless and amazed; and every day our bodies separate us farther from our planned, deliberate ironic lives. — Marilyn Hacker, Love, Death, And The Changing Of The Seasons. (W. W. Norton & Company; Reprint edition, March 17, 1995)