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Paul Celan

So many constellations that are held out to us. I was, when I looked at you — when? — outside by the other worlds. O these ways, galactic. O this hour, that weighed nights over for us into the burden of our names. It is, I know, not true that we lived, there moved, blindly,… Continue reading Paul Celan

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E. E. Cummings

ix nearer: breath of my breath: take not thy tingling limbs from me: make my pain their crazy meal letting thy tigers of smooth sweetness steal slowly in dumb blossoms of new mingling: deeper: blood of my blood: with upwardcringing swiftness plunge these leopards of white dream in the glad flesh of my fear: more… Continue reading E. E. Cummings

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Paul Celan

Go blind at once, today: eternity too is full of eyes— what helped the images overcome their coming drowns there; there the fire goes out of what spirited you away from language with a gesture you let happen like the waltz of two words made of pure fall, silk, and nothing. — Paul Celan, from… Continue reading Paul Celan

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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)

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E. E. Cummings

gee i like to think of dead it means nearer because deeper firmer since darker than little round water at one end of the well it’s too cool to be crooked and it’s too firm to be hard but it’s sharp and thick and it loves, every old thing falls in rosebugs and jackknives and… Continue reading E. E. Cummings

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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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African-American Culture · African-American Literature · American Counterculture · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Excerpt · Fragment · Jazz · Passage · Poetry · Surrealism · The Beat Generation

Bob Kaufman

In order to exist I hide behind stacks of red and blue poems And open little sensuous parasols — Bob Kaufman, from “Afterwards They Shall Dance,” Solitudes Crowded with Loneliness. (New Directions, January 17, 1965)

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