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Anne Carson

He sits down at the table; people in exile write so many letters. Now Ovid is weeping. Each night about this time he puts on sadness like a garment and goes on writing. — Anne Carson, from “On Ovid,” Plainwater: Essays and Poetry. (Vintage; Reprint edition, March 28, 2000) Originally published 1995. Advertisements

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Anthology · Canadian Culture · Canadian Literature · Contemporary · Excerpt · Journal · Magazine · Passage · Periodical · Poetry

Anne Carson

The ocean reminds me              of your green room.                           There are things unbearable.                                        Scorn, princes, this little size of dying. My personal poetry is a failure.              I do not want to be a person.                           I want to be unbearable.                                        Lover to lover, the greenness of love. Cool, cooling. — Anne… Continue reading Anne Carson

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