When You Go Away When you go away the wind clicks around to the north The painters work all day but at sundown the paint falls Showing the black walls The clock goes back to striking the same hour That has no place in the years And at night wrapped in the bed of ashes… Continue reading W.S. Merwin
And the days are not full enough And the nights are not full enough And life slips by like a field mouse Not shaking the grass — Ezra Pound, “And the Days Are Not Full Enough,” Collected Early Poems of Ezra Pound. Edited by Michael King. (New Directions Publishing November 17, 1982)
In the motel room that night, in the early morning hours, he opened a curtain. Saw clouds banked against the moon. He leaned closer to the glass. Cold air passed through and put its hand over his heart. I loved you, he thought. Loved you well. Before loving you no longer. — Raymond Carver, from… Continue reading Raymond Carver
2. How I would Paint Happiness Something sudden, a windfall, a meteor shower. No – a flowering tree releasing all its blossoms at once, and the one standing beneath it unexpectedly robed in bloom, transformed into a stranger to beautiful to touch. — Lisel Mueller, from ” Imaginary Paintings,” Alive Together: New and Selected Poems. (LSU… Continue reading Lisel Mueller
When I die, don’t come, I wouldn’t want a leaf to turn away from the sun— it loves it there. There’s nothing so spiritual about being happy but you can’t miss a day of it, because it doesn’t last. — Frank O’Hara, from “Poem,” The Collected Poems of Frank O’Hara. (University of California Press March… Continue reading Frank O’Hara
The word ‘despair’ is overused and banalized now, but it’s a serious word, and I’m using it seriously. It’s close to what people call dread or angst, but it’s not these things, quite. It’s more like wanting to die in order to escape the unbearable sadness of knowing I’m small and weak and selfish and… Continue reading David Foster Wallace
Where’s the nobility in patching up a bunch of old tables and chairs? Corrosive to the soul, quite possibly. I’ve seen too many estates not to know that. Idolatry! Caring too much for objects can destroy you. Only—if you care for a thing enough, it takes on a life of its own, doesn’t it? And… Continue reading Donna Tartt
