Now each finger adds its measure; you are pulled down by the weight of your own hair. And if your life should disappear ahead of you you would not run after it. — Linda Pastan, from “Pain,” Poetry (August 1978) Advertisements
More and more you learn to live with the unacceptable. You sense the ever-hidden God retreating even farther, terrified or embarrassed. — Stephen Dunn, from “Before the Sky Darkens,” as quoted in “Down from the Tower: Poetry as Confabulation,” by Bill Christophersen, Poetry (January 2002)
I hear the wind blow, and I feel that it was worth being born just to hear the wind blow. — Fernando Pessoa, from “Discontinuous Poems,” trans. Edouard Roditi, Poetry (October 1955)
Sonnet for Thunder Lovers and Primary Colors When Sweet Nothings Just Don’t Cut It You’re more than soda fizz, than sparklers lit for kids at play, than fireflies’ flit in sky. You spin around my heart and up my thigh with the whistle and boom of a bottle rocket. Baby, those other jugglers’ gigolo tricks—… Continue reading Brenda Cárdenas
The twilight smells like moths. Moths and libraries and children’s breath preserved in formaldehyde. It’s in our hair and our cloaks reek of it. Everywhere the years have accumulated in layers like the stale smoke of magic. — Lori Lamothe, from “Gray Sisters to Perseus,” Linebreak (30 September 2008)
Time does not stand still; it is writing itself into the leaves how fatal life can be. Fog is burning. The fields are evolving as light arrives in a slow assured way. Like a passing rain, light arrives! And it is not any more beautiful one day than another; it just seems that way, narrowing… Continue reading Martin Willitts Jr.
The poet is a man who feigns And feigns so thoroughly, at last He manages to feign as pain The pain he really feels, And those who read what once he wrote Feel clearly, in the pain they read, Neither of the pains he felt, Only a pain they cannot sense. And thus, around its… Continue reading Fernando Pessoa