If I commit suicide, it will not be to destroy myself, but to put myself back together again. Suicide will be for me only one means of violently reconquering myself, of brutally invading my being, of anticipating the unpredictable approaches of God. By suicide, I reintroduce my design in nature, I shall for the first… Continue reading Antonin Artaud
When blood was gushing forth from the anxious temples of my desire When my life was nothing other than the ticking of the clock I realized that I must love That I must madly love. — Forugh Farrokhzad, from “Window” (1967), translated by Farzaneh Milani from the Persian. The New York Times: The Opinion Pages.… Continue reading Forugh Farrokhzad
The sound of wind in leaves, that was what puzzled me, it took me years to understand that it was music. Into silence, a gesture. A sentence: that it speaks. This is the mystery: meaning. Not that these folds of rock exist but that their beauty, here, now, nails us to the sky. — Jan… Continue reading Jan Zwicky
Look man, we’d probably most of us agree that these are dark times, and stupid ones, but do we need fiction that does nothing but dramatize how dark and stupid everything is? In dark times, the definition of good art would seem to be art that locates and applies CPR to those elements of what’s… Continue reading David Foster Wallace
A poem is nonetheless present from the conception, from the first germ of it crossing the mind—it must be scratched for and exhumed. There is an element of timelessness. The leading atomic scientist in Australia agreed with me the other day that time does not really exist. The finished poem is present before it is… Continue reading Robert Graves
She did not love the world and its things. She saw it for what it was. Her melancholia was, in fact, a kind of allergy to the world. — Cynthia Cruz, “Justine, a Prophet: Blindness and Vision in Lars von Trier’s ‘Melancholia’” Hyperallergic: Video • Weekend, September 5, 2015.
As for me, I will enter the mulberry trees where the silk worm makes me into a silk thread, then I’ll enter a woman’s needle in one of the myths, then I’ll fly like a shawl with the wind … Mahmoud Darwish, from “Not as a Foreign Tourist Does,” translated by Fady Joudah, Michigan Quarterly… Continue reading Mahmoud Darwish