Litany You are the bread and the knife, the crystal goblet and the wine. You are the dew on the morning grass and the burning wheel of the sun. You are the white apron of the baker, and the marsh birds suddenly in flight. However, you are not the wind in the orchard, the plums… Continue reading Billy Collins
A purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved. — Kurt Vonnegut, The Sirens of Titan. (Delacorte 1959)
And this? This is the most unscrupulous thing of all. These scratchings all night, These inquiries because you are not there, have become, simply, you, white paper Desiring the darkening effects of ink until, late at night, it is black trees, White snow. – Larry Levis, from “5. Coney Island Baby,” in… Continue reading Larry Levis
I’m full of poetry now. Rot and poetry. Rotten poetry. — Ernest Hemingway, The Snows of Kilimanjaro and Other Stories. (Scribner; Classic edition, July 6, 1999) Originally published 1938.
What do they sing, the last birds coasting down the twilight, banking across woods filled with darkness, their frayed wings curved on the world like a lover’s arms which form, night after night, in sleep, an irremediable absence? — Galway Kinnell, from f “Last Songs,” Body Rags (Houghton Mifflin, 1968)