June 2011
41 posts
“No two rain drops,
No two blades of grass,
Whisper your name alike.”
– CHARLES SIMIC | HOTEL INSOMNIA | EXCERPT FROM “QUICK EATS” (via evoketheforms)
“I heard a man say a poem once,
he said ‘All that lives is holy.’”
– —John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath
(via ahuntersheart)
May 2011
48 posts
Galway Kinnell, "Running on Silk"
sharingpoetry:
A man in the black twill and gold braid of a pilot and a woman with the virginal alertness flight attendants had in the heyday of stewardesses go running past as if they have hopped off one plane and are running to hop on another. They look to me absolutely like lovers; in the verve and fleetness of their sprint you can see them running toward each other inside themselves....
Sharing Poetry: Wallace Stevens, "Man Carrying... →
sharingpoetry:
The poem must resist the intelligence Almost successfully. Illustration: A brune figure in winter evening resists Identity. The thing he carries resists The most necessitous sense. Accept them, then, As secondary (parts not quite perceived Of the obvious whole, uncertain particles Of the…
Edna St. Vincent Millay, "Afternoon on a Hill"
sharingpoetry:
I will be the gladdest thing Under the sun! I will touch a hundred flowers And not pick one.
I will look at cliffs and clouds With quiet eyes, Watch the wind bow down the grass, And the grass rise.
And when lights begin to show Up from the town, I will mark which must be mine, And then start down! (submitted by fadelikestarlight)
Sharing Poetry: Frank O'Hara, "Mayakovsky" →
sharingpoetry:
1 My heart’s aflutter! I am standing in the bath tub crying. Mother, mother who am I? If he will just come back once and kiss me on the face his coarse hair brush my temple, it’s throbbing! then I can put on my clothes I guess, and walk the streets. 2 I love you. I love you, but I’m turning to…
“Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards...”
– T. S. Eliot, from The Four Quartets (via proustitute)
“Genius is the capacity to see ten things where the ordinary man sees one.”
– Ezra Pound (via thenothinglife)
“Unto my books so good to turn
Far ends of tired days…”
– Emily Dickinson, from “LXXIV”
(with thanks to bellswithin)
“… in our dreamings,
in their shadowings and gleamings,
in their multiplings,...”
– Wislawa Szymborska, from “Dreams” (via proustitute)
“Out of this same light, out of the central mind,
We make a dwelling in the...”
– Wallace Stevens, from “Final Soliloquy of the Interior Paramour” (adapted from evoketheforms)
Dead Writers Club: Happy Deathday Mr. Nash! →
deadwriters:
On May 19th in 1971, one of America’s finest lyric writers and poets died of Crohn’s disease at the age of 68. It was once said by the New York Times that Ogden Nash’s “droll verse with its unconventional rhymes made him the country’s best-known producer of humorous poetry”.
While the…
News & Notes from Poetry Worlds: PW Poetry... →
pwpoetry:
This months batch includes new books by Michael Palmer, Forrest Gander, David Meltzer and two different Matthews.
Come Thief by Jane Hirschfield (Knopf) Universal Beach by Vivek Narayanan (ingirumimusnocteetconsumimurigni) Negro League Baseball by Harmony Holiday (Fence)
Pablo Neruda, "Sonnet LXXIX" →
sharingpoetry:
Tie your heart at night to mine, love, and both will defeat the darkness like twin drums beating in the forest against the heavy wall of wet leaves. Night crossing: black coal of dream that cuts the thread of earthly orbs with the punctuality of a headlong train that pulls cold stone and shadow…
“All you need now is to stand at the window and let your rhythmical sense open...”
– Virginia Woolf,Letter To A Young Poet.
(via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)
Subway Face
goodpoetry:
That I have been looking For you all my life Does not matter to you. You do not know. You never knew. Nor did I. Now you take the Harlem train uptown; I take a local down.
Langston Hughes
Carson McCullers
arsvitaest:
by Charles Bukowski she died of alcoholism wrapped in a blanket on a deck chair on an ocean steamer. all her books of terrified loneliness all her books about the cruelty of loveless love were all that was left of her as the strolling vacationer discovered her body notified the captain and she was quickly dispatched to somewhere else on the ship as everything continued just as...
“people so tired
mutilated
either by love or no love.”
– Charles Bukowski (via katelizabeth)
goodpoetry:
I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed & that necessary.
Margaret Atwood
“The trouble is - excuse my clichés - as people grow older, non-artists, that is,...”
– Elizabeth Bishop, in a June 1963 letter to Robert Lowell. (via confusionis)
“The trouble is - excuse my clichés - as people grow older, non-artists, that is,...”
– Elizabeth Bishop, in a June 1963 letter to Robert Lowell. (via confusionis)
3 tags
“The madwoman went marking X’s
With a piece of school chalk
On the backs of...”
– “early evening algebra” by Charles Simic
Questions at a Poetry Reading by Ewa Lipska →
fuckyeahpolishpoets:
What’s your favorite color? Your happiest day? Did any poem outrun your imagination? Do you have any hope? You frighten us. Why is the sky black? Who shot down time? Was it an empty hand, a hat sailing across the sea? Why a wedding dress with a funeral…
“You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a...”
– Mary Oliver, “Wild Geese”
(Words from friends.)
A Writer's Ruminations: INTERVIEWER: What do you... →
awritersruminations:
INTERVIEWER: What do you think of the label “confessional poetry” and the tendency for more and more poets to work in that mode?
TED HUGHES: Goethe called his work one big confession, didn’t he? Looking at his work in the broadest sense, you could say the same of Shakespeare: a total…
“I want to be written again
in the Book of Life, to be written every single day...”
– Yehuda Amichai, from I Walked Past a House Where I Lived Once (via awritersruminations)
“I’m old-fashioned and think that reading books is the most glorious pastime that...”
– Wislawa Szymborska (via fuckyeahpolishpoets)
After Years
fuckyeahpoetry:
Today, from a distance, I saw you walking away, and without a sound the glittering face of a glacier slid into the sea. An ancient oak fell in the Cumberlands, holding only a handful of leaves, and an old woman scattering corn to her chickens looked up for an instant. At the other side of the galaxy, a star thirty-five times the size of our own sun exploded and vanished, leaving...
“in the street of the sky night walks scattering poems.”
– e.e. cummings (via papercrushed)
“When over the flowery, sharp pasture’s
edge, unseen, the salt ocean
lifts its...”
– William Carlos Williams, “Flowers by the Sea” (via proustitute)
3 tags
Poetic Missed Connections →
goodpoetry:
Your thighs are appletrees. Your knees are a southern breeze.
William Carlos Williams
