The weight of the world is love. Under the burden of solitude, under the burden of dissatisfaction the weight,the weight we carry is love. — Allen Ginsberg, from “Song,” Collected Poems 1947-1980. (Harper Perennial; Reprint edition June 7, 1988)
Loneliness is necessary for pure poetry. When someone intrudes into the poet’s life (and any sudden personal contact, whether in the bed or in the heart, is an intrusion) the poet loses his or her balance for a moment, slips into being what he or she is, uses his or her poetry as one would… Continue reading Jack Spicer
Love her Sings the sea Bluely Moaning — Jack Kerouac, from “74th Chorus,” San Francisco Blues (Penguin, 1995)
The night sky is like the pure Space of the imagination — Kenneth Rexroth, from “Theory of Numbers,” The Collected Shorter Poems (New Directions Publishing Corporation, 1967)
Once more I wander in the warm evening Calling the heart to order and the stiff brain To passion. — Kenneth Rexroth, from “Autumn in California,” Selected Poems (New Directions, 1984)
My eyes were glued on life and they were full of tears. ― Jack Kerouac, Atop an Underwood: Early Stories and Other Writings. (Penguin Books; Fourth Printing edition, November 1, 2000) Originally published November 1st 1999.
The silence is so intense that you can hear your own blood roar in your ears but louder than that by far is the mysterious roar which I always identify with the roaring of the diamond wisdom, the mysterious roar of silence itself, which is a great Shhhh reminding you of something you’ve seemed to… Continue reading Jack Kerouac