there is a place in the heart that will never be filled and we will wait and wait in that space. — Charles Bukowski, from “no help for that,” You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense. (Black Sparrow Press,1986) Advertisements
To be running breathlessly, but not yet arrived, is itself delightful, a suspended moment of living hope. — Anne Carson, Eros: The Bittersweet. (Dalkey Archive Press; 1st Dalkey Archive ed edition, March 1, 1998) Originally published 1986.
You change between teeth and desire into nothing but cool light that loosens into a stream that touched us singing. And thus you don’t weigh us down in the burning siesta hour, you don’t weigh us down, you just go by and your great heart like a cold ember changed into the water of a… Continue reading Pablo Neruda
People often ask me questions that I cannot very well answer in words, and it makes me sad to think they are unable to hear the voice of my silence. — Hazrat Inayat Khan
My body sings only one song; the wind turns gray in my arms. Flowers bloom. Flowers die. More is less. I long for more. — Mark Strand, from “The One Song,” Collected Poems (Alfred A. Knopf, 2014)
I’m alternatingly brilliant and witless-and sleepless: bed is just a swamp to roll in. ― Marilyn Hacker, Love, Death, and the Changing of the Seasons. (W. W. Norton & Company; Reprint edition, March 17, 1995) Originally published 1986.
I feel I understand Existence, or at least a minute part Of my existence, only through my art, In terms of combinational delight; And if my private universe scans right, So does the verse of galaxies divine Which I suspect is an iambic line. —Vladimir Nabokov, from “Canto Four,” Pale Fire: A Poem in Four… Continue reading Vladimir Nabokov