I am moved by fancies that are curledAround these images, and cling:The notion of some infinitely gentleInfinitely suffering thing. — T.S. Eliot, from “Preludes,” Prufrock and Other Observations. (Forgotten Books September 27, 2015) Originally published 1917.
Where does discontent start? You are warm enough, but you shiver. You are fed, yet hunger gnaws you. You have been loved, but your yearning wanders in new fields. And to prod all these there’s time, the Bastard Time. — John Steinbeck, Sweet Thursday . (Viking Press 1954)
And here, on the outskirts of memory,I look off again into that distance, As if into a future, — Eric Pankey, from “The Reconstruction of the Fictive Space,” Oracle Figures. (Ausable Press; First Edition edition January 1, 2003)