The Little Mute Boy The little boy was looking for his voice. (The king of the crickets had it.) In a drop of water the little boy was looking for his voice. I do not want it for speaking with; I will make a ring of it so that he may wear my silence on… Continue reading Federico García Lorca
I have in me like a haze Which holds and which is nothing A nostalgia for nothing at all, The desire for something vague. — Fernando Pessoa, from “[I have in me like a haze],” Fernando Pessoa and Co.: Selected Poems. Translated by Richard Zenith. (Grove Press, 1998)
“Whether or not, it is no question now, Of time or place, or even how, It is not time for questions now, Nor yet the place.” The soft lights of your face Arrange themselves in memories Of smiles and frowns. — Kenneth Rexroth, from “The Thin Edge of Your Pride VII,” The collected shorter poems… Continue reading Kenneth Rexroth
Unending Love I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times In life after life, in age after age, forever. My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs, That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms, In life after life, in age after age,… Continue reading Rabindranath Tagore
Better that every fiber crack and fury make head, blood drenching vivid couch, carpet, floor and the snake-figured almanac vouching you are a million green counties from here, than to sit mute, twitching so under prickling stars, with stare, with curse blackening the time goodbyes were said, trains let go, and I, great magnanimous fool,… Continue reading Sylvia Plath
Bleecker Street, Summer Summer for prose and lemons, for nakedness and languor, for the eternal idleness of the imagined return, for rare flutes and bare feet, and the August bedroom of tangled sheets and the Sunday salt, ah violin! When I press summer dusks together, it is a month of street accordions and sprinklers laying… Continue reading Derek Walcott
You’ve learned by now to wait without waiting; as if it were dusk look into light falling: in deep relief things even out. Be careless of nothing. See what you see. — Philip Booth, from “How to See Deer,” Lifelines: Selected Poems 1950-1999. (Penguin Books, October 1, 2000) Originally published 1999.