So this was how you died; in whispers that you did not hear. — Ernest Hemingway, from “The Snows of Kilimanjaro,” The Complete Short Stories. (Scribner; Finca Vig Ia Ed edition August 3, 1998) Originally published 1946.
Love’s the boy stood on the burning deck trying to recite “The boy stood on the burning deck”. Love’s the son stood stammering elocution while the poor ship in flames went down. Love’s the obstinate boy, the ship, even the swimming sailors, who would like a schoolroom platform, too or an excuse to stay on deck. And love’s the… Continue reading Elizabeth Bishop
I am this space my body believes in. ― Yusef Komunyakaa, Neon Vernacular: New and Selected Poems, (Wesleyan; 1st edition March 15, 1993) Originally published March 1st 1993.
She stuck a bookmark in his heart and walked away. ― Saul Williams, She. (MTV Books; Original ed. edition June 1, 1999)
But I walked straight aheadInto the biography of light& dark, — Yusef Komunyakaa, from “Sex, Magnolias, & Speed,” Magic City (Wesleyan University Press, 1992)
I never said there’s a book insideevery tree. I never said I know howthe legless beggar feels whenthe memory of his toes itch.If I did, drunkennesswas then my god & naked dancer.I take it back.I’m not a suicidal mooncalf;you don’t have to take my shoelaces. — Yusef Komunyakaa, from “Corrigenda,” Pleasure Dome: New & Collected… Continue reading Yusef Komunyakaa
Power without love is reckless and abusive, and love without power is sentimental and anemic. Power at its best is love implementing the demands of justice, and justice at its best is power correcting everything that stands against love. ― Martin Luther King Jr.
Her smile, a place where minnows swim. —Yusef Komunyaka, from “Landscape for the Disappeared,” Neon Vernacular: New and Selected Poems (Wesleyan University Press, 1993)
Her eyelids were painted blue. When she closed her eyes the sea rolled in like ten thousand fiery chariots, leaving behind silence above and below a thousand years old. — Yusef Komunyakaa, from “Omens,” Poetry Apr 2012, Vol. 200 Issue 1, p15
Societies never know it, but the war of an artist with his society is a lover’s war, and he does, at his best, what lovers do, which is to reveal the beloved to himself and, with that revelation, to make freedom real. — James Baldwin, “The Creative Process,” Creative America. (The National Cultural Center /… Continue reading James Baldwin