There is within me a thing that is aching, aching, aching always as the days pass. — Mary MacLane, I Await The Devil’s Coming. (Melville House; Reprint edition, March 19, 2013) Originally published April 26th 1902.
I Knew a Woman I knew a woman, lovely in her bones, When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them; Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one: The shapes a bright container can contain! Of her choice virtues only gods should speak, Or English poets who grew up on Greek… Continue reading Theodore Roethke
I think there’s a kind of desperate hope built into poetry now that one really wants, hopelessly, to save the world. One is trying to say everything that can be said for the things that one loves while there’s still time. I think that’s a social role, don’t you? — W.S. Merwin
You lie in bed at 4:30 in the morning wishing her hair would wash over you like river silt and change the course you’re on. A good word would be meander. It’s a breath, more than you ever wanted to spend on the way suffering bends like an elbow or a stream in your backyard… Continue reading Paul Guest
You must be ready to burn yourself in your own flame. How could you rise anew if you have not first become ashes? — Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra (Ernst Shcmeitzner, 1883-1885)
You are the moon, dear love, and I the sea: The tide of hope swells high within my breast, And hides the rough dark rocks of life’s unrest When your fond eyes smile near in perigee. But when that loving face is turned from me, Low falls the tide, and the grim rocks appear, And… Continue reading Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Merely to say the same thing twice—language is language—how is that supposed to get us anywhere? But we do not want to get anywhere. We would like only, for once, to get just to where we are already. — Martin Heidegger, from “Language,” Poetry, Language, Thought. (Harper Perennial Modern Classics; Later Printing Used edition, December… Continue reading Martin Heidegger