I feel the weight of stars… — Theodore Roethke, from “A Nest of Light,” Straw for the Fire: From the Notebooks of Theodore Roethke. (Copper Canyon Press, November 1, 2006) Advertisements
The resonant, the orotund, the rounding of The round full phrases sounding like far sighs, As if an ancient hill has found a motion Long remembered, never brought to action … — Theodore Roethke, from “Words for Young Writers,” On Poetry & Craft (Copper Canyon Press, 2001)
The poem is lonely. It is lonely and en route. — Paul Celan, from “The Meridian,” Paul Celan: Selections. (University of California Press; 1st edition, March 14, 2005)
It is an odd jealousy: but the poet finds himself not near enough to his object. — Ralph Waldo Emerson, from “Nature,” Nature and Selected Essays (Penguin Classics, 2003)
To be running breathlessly, but not yet arrived, is itself delightful, a suspended moment of living hope. — Anne Carson, Eros: The Bittersweet. (Dalkey Archive Press; 1st Dalkey Archive ed edition, March 1, 1998) Originally published 1986.
The question is how you rearrange the stars above your head, to open up unexpected paths on the ground beneath your feet. — Brian Holmes, “Guattari’s Schizoanalytic Cartographies” or “The Pathic Core at the Heart of Cybernetics,” Continental Drift.
Writing a novel is a terrible experience, during which the hair often falls out and the teeth decay. I’m always irritated by people who imply that writing fiction is an escape from reality. It is a plunge into reality and it’s very shocking to the system. — Flannery O’Connor, Mystery and Manners: Occasional Prose. (Farrar,… Continue reading Flannery O’Connor