In space in time I sitThousands of feet aboveThe sea and meditateOn solitude on loveNear all is brown and poorHouses are made of earthSun opens every doorThe city is a hearthFar all is blue and strangeThe sky looks down on snowAnd meets the mountain-rangeWhere time is light not shadowTime in the heart held stillSpace as… Continue reading May Sarton
But as the dark flows inThe tree frogs beginTheir shrill sweet singing,And we lie on our bedsThrough the ecstatic night,Wide awake, cracked open. There will be no going back. — May Sarton, closing lines to “April in Maine,” Collected Poems (W.W. Norton & Company, 1993)
I live alone, perhaps for no good reason, for the reason that I am an impossible creature, set apart by a temperament I have never learned to use as it could be used, thrown off by a word, a glance, a rainy day, or one drink too many. My need to be alone is balanced… Continue reading May Sarton
I think of the trees and how simply they let go, let fall the riches of a season, how without grief (it seems) they can let go and go deep into their roots for renewal and sleep…. Imitate the trees. Learn to lose in order to recover, and remember that nothing stays the same for… Continue reading May Sarton
Read between the lines Then meet me in the silence if you can — May Sarton, from Letters from “Letters from Maine,” Letters from Maine: New Poems. (W. W. Norton & Company December 17, 1997) Originally published 1984.
…and Andy, gloomy and self-devouring, sat at his desk and chewed the cud of memory. ― May Sarton, The Poet and the Donkey: A Novel. (W. W. Norton & Company, September 17, 1996) Originally published 1969.
I sometimes go months without remembering you. Some griefs bless us that way, not asking much space. — Laure-Anne Bosselaar, from “Stillbirth,” A New Hunger. (Ausable Press; First edition April 1, 2007)
I can tell you that solitude Is not all exaltation, inner space Where the soul breathes and work can be done. Solitude exposes the nerve, Raises up ghosts. The past, never at rest, flows through it. —May Sarton, “Gestalt at Sixty: Part 1,″ A Durable Fire: Poems (Open Road Media, 2014) Originally published January 1st… Continue reading May Sarton
Outside, the wind tears at the trees; Dark comes into the room like a stranger And we are touched by a huge loneliness. — May Sarton, from “Landscape Pursued by a Cloud,” Collected Poems: 1930–1993. (W. W. Norton & Company; First edition May 17, 1993)
The Vale of Soul-Making 