And if, as autumn deepens and darkens I feel the pain of falling leaves, and stems that break in storms and trouble and dissolution and distress and then the softness of deep shadows folding, folding around my soul and spirit, around my lips… so sweet, like a swoon, or more like the drowse of a… Continue reading D. H. Lawrence
I will die in Paris with a rainstorm, on a day I already remember, I will die in Paris—and I don’t shy away— perhaps on a Thursday, as today is, in autumn. It will be Thursday, because today, Thursday, as I prose these lines, I’ve put on my humeri in a bad mood, and,… Continue reading César Vallejo
Poets make pets of pretty, docile words: I love smooth words, like gold-enamelled fish Which circle slowly with a silken swish, And tender ones, like downy-feathred birds: Words shy and dappled, deep-eyed deer in herds, Come to my hand, and playful if I wish, Or purring softly at a silver dish, Blue Persian kittens fed… Continue reading Elinor Wylie
Imagine if suffering were real. Imagine if those old people were afraid of death. What if the midget or the girl with one arm really felt pain? Imagine how impossible it would be to live if some people were alone and afraid all their lives. — Jack Gilbert, “Games,” Monolithos: Poems, 1962 and 1982. (Alfred… Continue reading Jack Gilbert
Maybe this world is another planet’s Hell. — Aldous Huxley, as quoted in Peter’s Quotations: Ideas for Our Time (1979) by Laurence J. Peter, p. 239.
Now That I Am in Madrid I Can Think I think of you and the continents brilliant and arid and the slender heart you are sharing my share of with the American air as the lungs I have felt sonorously subside slowly greet each morning and your brown lashes flutter revealing two perfect dawns colored… Continue reading Frank O’Hara
Everything is plundered, betrayed, sold, Death’s great black wing scrapes the air, Misery gnaws to the bone. Why then do we not despair? By day, from the surrounding woods, cherries blow summer into town; at night the deep transparent skies glitter with new galaxies. And the miraculous comes so close to the ruined, dirty houses—… Continue reading Anna Akhmatova