In the moisture of a dirt road I traveled, you are the rain that visited the night before. — Juan Delgado, from “The Evidence is Everywhere,” Vital Signs. (Heyday (October 1, 2013)
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.
To cease to exist and to die are two different things entirely. But you knew this, didn’t you? — Erika L. Sánchez, from “Six Months after Contemplating Suicide,” Poetry (December 2015)
At times poetry is the vertigo of bodies and the vertigo of speech and the vertigo of death; the walk with eyes closed along the edge of the cliff, and the verbena in submarine gardens; the laughter that sets fire to rules and the holy commandments; the descent of parachuting words onto the sands of… Continue reading Octavio Paz
to remember that a waterfall is a girl coming down the stairs dying of laughter, to see the sun and its planets swinging on the trapeze of the horizon, to learn to see so that things will see us and come and go through our seeing, living alphabets that send out roots, shoot up, bud,… Continue reading Octavio Paz
the wave of your laughter surged over the chatting and the rattle of the cups and spoons, it was the sound of spotted goats clambering in a rush over a land of burnt hills, the couple at the next table stopped talking and froze with blank stares, as if reality had become naked and nothing… Continue reading Octavio Paz
There are moments that explode and become stars — Octavio Paz, from “Seeds for a psalm,” Early Poems 1935-1955 (New Directions, 1973)