Anthology · Classic · Collection · Compilation · Excerpt · Existentialism · Fragment · Latin-American Culture · Latin-American Literature · Mexican Culture · Mexican Literature · Passage · Poetry · Surrealism

Octavio Paz

The endless corridors of memory, the doors that open into an empty room where all the summers have come to rot — Octavio Paz, from “Sunstone,” World Poetry: An Anthology of Verse from Antiquity to Our Time, ed. Katharine Washburn, John S. Major and Clifton Fadiman (W. W. Norton & Co., 2000) Advertisements

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Anthology · Classic · Collection · Compilation · Excerpt · Existentialism · Latin-American Culture · Latin-American Literature · Mexican Culture · Mexican Literature · Passage · Poetry · Surrealism

Octavio Paz

                    I am where I was: I walk behind the murmur, footsteps within me, heard with my eyes, the murmur is in the mind, I am my footsteps, I hear the voices that I think, the voices that think me as as I think them. I am the shadow my words cast. — Octavio Paz,… Continue reading Octavio Paz

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Anthology · Classic · Collection · Compilation · Excerpt · Existentialism · Fragment · Latin-American Culture · Latin-American Literature · Mexican Culture · Mexican Literature · Passage · Poetry · Surrealism

Octavio Paz

your mouth tastes/ like poisoned time — Octavio Paz, from “Sunstone,” Octavio Paz, The Collected Poems, 1957-1987. Edited and translated by Eliot Weinberger. (New Directions, April 17, 1991) Originally published 1987.

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Chicano Literary Movement · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Excerpt · Latin-American Culture · Latin-American Literature · Passage · Poetry

Lorna Dee Cervantes

I’m burning like the white ring around the moon. “A witch’s moon,” dijo mi abuela. The schools call it “a reflection of ice crystals.” It’s a storm brewing in the cauldron of the sky. I’m in love — Lorna Dee Cervantes, from “The Body As Braille,” Emplumada. (University of Pittsburgh Press; 1 edition, December 31,… Continue reading Lorna Dee Cervantes

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Chicano Literary Movement · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Latin-American Culture · Latin-American Literature · Poetry

Sandra Cisneros

Bring me a drink. I need to think a little. Paper. Pen. And I could use the stink of a good cigar–even though the sun’s out. The grackles in the trees. The grackles inside my heart. Broken feathers and stiff wings. I could jump. But I don’t. You could kill me. But you won’t. The… Continue reading Sandra Cisneros

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