I want to resemble a sort of liquid light which stretches beyond visibility or invisibility. Tonight I wish to have the valor and daring to belong to the moon. —Virginia Woolf, A Writer’s Diary. (Mariner Books; First edition, March 31, 2003) Originally published 1953.
I’ve typed myself into a fine nostalgia. — Elizabeth Bishop, letter to Robert Lowell, 14 December 1957, Words in Air: The Complete Correspondence Between Elizabeth Bishop and Robert Lowell (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2008)
An Almost Made Up Poem I see you drinking at a fountain with tiny blue hands, no, your hands are not tiny they are small, and the fountain is in France where you wrote me that last letter and I answered and never heard from you again. you used to write insane poems about ANGELS… Continue reading Charles Bukowski
It is vain futility to describe the way you smile; it is mere impossibility to speak at all when you are around. I don’t dare breathe. Keep smiling. I don’t dare move at all. — Friedrich Nietzsche, Selected Letters of Friedrich Nietzsche. (Hackett Publishing Company, Inc.; 2nd edition December 15, 1996)
this head like a saucer decorated with everything as lip to lip we hang in mechanical joy; my hands blaze with arias but i think of books on anatomy, and i fall from you as nations burn in anger… to recover from most pitiful error and rebuild, this is it loss and mending until they… Continue reading Charles Bukowski
Kiss me, and you will see how important I am. ― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath. (Anchor; Unabridged edition October 17, 2000)
in the cupboard sits my bottle like a dwarf waiting to scratch out my prayers. I drink and cough like some idiot at a symphony, sunlight and maddened birds are everywhere, the phone rings gamboling its sound against the odds of the crooked sea; I drink deeply and evenly now, I drink to paradise and… Continue reading Charles Bukowski