Even trees understand me! Good heavens, I lie under them, too, don’t I? I’m just like a pile of leaves. — Frank O’Hara, from “Meditations in an Emergency,” Meditations in an Emergency. (Grove Press; Reissue edition April 1, 1996) Originally published 1957.
The blue river is grey at morningand evening. There is twilightat dawn and dusk. I lie in the darkwondering if this quiet in me nowis a beginning or an end. — Jack Gilbert, “Waking at Night,” The Dance Most of All: Poems. ( Knopf; First Edition edition April 7, 2009)
And now let us love and take that which is given us, and be happy; for in the grave there is no love and no warmth, nor any touching of the lips. Nothing perchance, or perchance but bitter memories of what might have been. ― H. Rider Haggard, She. (Oxford University Press October 22, 1998)… Continue reading H. Rider Haggard
I should have been a pair of ragged clawsScuttling across the floors of silent seas. — T.S. Eliot, from “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” Prufrock and Other Observations. (Kessinger Publishing, LLC September 10, 2010) Originally published 1917.
It isn’t possible to love and part. You will wish that it was. You can transmute love, ignore it, muddle it, but you can never pull it out of you. I know by experience that the poets are right: love is eternal. — E.M. Forster, A Room with a View. (Edward Arnold 1908)
Night doesn’t fall,but rather, all the disregarded shadows of a dayflock like blackbirds, and suddenly rise. — Stuart Dybek, from “Ravenswood,” Alaska Quarterly Review, Fall & Winter 2012
What does it matter how many lovers you have if none of them gives you the universe? — Jacques Lacan, The Seminar of Jacques Lacan: On Feminine Sexuality, the Limits of Love and Knowledge Vol. Book XX. (W. W. Norton & Company November 17, 1999) Originally published 1975.
And let me ask you this: the dead,where aren’t they? — Franz Wright, from “The Visiting,” God’s Silence. (Knopf; y First printing edition March 21, 2006)
I am eternally, devastatingly romantic, and I thought people would see it because ‘romantic’ doesn’t mean ‘sugary.’ It’s dark and tormented — the furor of passion, the despair of an idealism that you can’t attain. — Catherine Breillat, Romance ( CAH CINEMA; 1st edition, April 8, 1999)
Evening prayer I spend my life sitting, like an angel in a barber’s chair,Holding a beer mug with deep-cut designs,My neck and gut both bent, while in the airA weightless veil of pipe smoke hangs. Like steaming dung within an old dovecoteA thousand Dreams within me softly burn:From time to time my heart is like… Continue reading Arthur Rimbaud