June 2011
May 2011
1 tag
oh antic God
return to me
my mother in her thirties
leaned across the front...
– Lucille Clifton, “oh antic God”
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A soul is light when full,
heavy when vacuous.
My soul is light. She is not...
– Vera Pavlova, from “I am in love, hence free to live” (translated by Steven Seymour)
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She was part of her room—part of the great bouquet of southern anemones, of the...
– Katherine Mansfield, “This Flower” (via katherine-mansfield)
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We went down into the silent garden. Dawn is the time when nothing breathes, the...
– Leonora Carrington, The House of Fear, 1988 (via proustitute)
A wound gives off its own light surgeons say
if all of the lamps in the house...
– Anne Carson, from The Beauty of the Husband (via itgivesitthew)
2 tags
And people are often unable to do anything, imprisoned as they are in I don’t...
– Vincent Van Gogh in a letter to his brother Theo (July 1880) (via predatorywaspobserver)
I heard a man say a poem once,
he said ‘All that lives is holy.’
– —John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath
(via ahuntersheart)
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This is a disease I carry home, this is a death.
Again, this is a death. Is it...
– Sylvia Plath, from Three Women
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emptythreats:
How sick is she? Is she exaggerating? And I recoiled, just a little, Just for balance, just for symmetry, Into sceptical patience, a little. ‘Come on, now,’ I soothed. ‘Don’t be so scared. It’s only a bug, don’t let it run away with you.’ What I really thought was: ‘Stop crying wolf.’ Other thoughts, chilly, familiar thoughts, Came across the tightrope: ‘Stop crying wolf, Or else...
That perhaps is your task — to find the relation between things that seem...
– Virginia Woolf,A Letter To A Young Poet. (via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)
Make up a story. Narrative is radical, creating us at the very moment it is...
– Toni Morrison, from the 1993 Nobel Prize lecture (source)
We may enjoy our room in the tower, with the painted walls and the commodious...
– Virginia Woolf, The Common Reader. (1925)
Cathy Smith Bowers, "Peace Lilies"
sharingpoetry:
I collect them now, it seems. Like sea-shells or old thimbles. One for Father. One for Mother. Two for my sweet brothers. Odd how little they require of me. Unlike the ones they were sent in memory of. No sudden shrilling of the phone. No harried midnight flights. Only a little water now and then. Scant food and light. See how I’ve brought them all together here in this shaded...
It is a rainy evening—not at all cold, rather warm, but rainy, rainy. Everything...
– Katherine Mansfield, May 17, 1915
(via katherine-mansfield)
1 tag
1 tag
goodpoetry:
I often carry things to read so that I will not have to look at the people.
Charles Bukowski
1 tag
A lovely spring night
suddenly vanished while we
viewed cherry blossom
– Basho (via yama-bato)
Whose fault is it that we are so isolated—that we have no real life—that...
– Katherine Mansfield, May 15, 1915
(via katherine-mansfield)
1 tag
Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to...
– Hermann Hesse (via aurai)
I’m not a girl—I’m a woman. I want things. Shall I ever have them? To write all...
– Katherine Mansfield, May 15, 1915
(via katherine-mansfield)
1 tag
Where apple bloom ices the night
I walk in a ring,
A groove of old faults,...
– Sylvia Plath, from “Event”
Only do not forget, if I wake up crying
it’s only because in my dream I’m a...
– Pablo Neruda (via proustitute)
I cannot tell you how beautiful this place is by daylight. The trees on the...
– Katherine Mansfield
(via katherine-mansfield)
mermaidsbones asked: Tagging you.
The rules:
Each tagged person must post ten things about themselves. You have to choose and tag ten people. Go to their blogs and tell them you tagged them.
No tag backs
The rules:
Each tagged person must post ten things about themselves. You have to choose and tag ten people. Go to their blogs and tell them you tagged them.
No tag backs
Remembering is only a new form of suffering.
– Charles Baudelaire, La fanfario
the-magic-of-the-universe asked: i absolutely LOVE this blog and the related ones. thank you Caitlin! cheers for all the literature lovers around the world. :)
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)
karrma asked: if you could spend tomorrow with any person, dead or alive, who'd it be? :]
Month by month things are losing their hardness; even my body now lets the light...
– Virginia Woolf, The Waves
(via sparemefromthemold)
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The novelist works neither to correct nor to condone, not at all to comfort, but...
– Eudora Welty
1 tag
To me, no man is himself, he is the sum of his past. There is no such thing...
– William Faulkner
She became acutely conscious of the little limbs, the thin veins, the delicate...
– Virginia Woolf, The Voyage Out
(via damaralikescats)
There should be a writing of non-writing. Someday it will come. A brief writing,...
– Marguerite Duras, from Writing
(via proustitute)
Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your...
– T. S. Eliot, from The Waste Land
(via proustitute)
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Hate is a bottomless cup; I will pour and pour.
– Euripides, Medea (via vintague)
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The Dream by Grazyna Chrostowska
fuckyeahpolishpoets:
I had the dream where you read your own poems, Like those written sometime ago, only these were in the grey book written after death…
And you look finer, paler and tinier every passing moment, Then you disappear.
The last to vanish were your hands And only the poems were left unharmed And in the poems was left someone’s heart.
(Translated by Jarek Gajewski)
1,000 followers = 1,000 poetry fans
sharingpoetry:
SharingPoetry has now officially reached 1,000 followers. Here’s to 1,000 more poetry fans! As a reminder: submit your favorite poems and follow the guidelines on that page. There are still a great number of poems in the queue here, but we can always have more—especially welcomed are those from lesser-known poets and poets in a credited (or your own) translation. If we start...
2 tags
Prof. W. explained to me that there are weightless things. Gravitation for one....
– Anna Kamienska, from In that Great River: A Notebook
1 tag
I’ve pulled the last of the year’s young onions.
The garden is bare...
– Li-Young Lee, Eating Alone