June 2012
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“I am not alone. Whatever else there was or is, writing is with me.”
– Lidia Yuknavitch, The Chronology of Water
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“Writing, she is the fire of me.”
– Lidia Yuknavitch, The Chronology of Water
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“Perhaps creating something is nothing but an act of profound remembrance.”
– Rainer Maria Rilke, The Poet’s Guide to Life, trans. Ulrich Baer (via proustitute)
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“In water, like in books—you can leave your life.”
– Lidia Yuknavitch, The Chronology of Water
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“You give me paintings of women with their eyes closed.
You give me grief, and...”
– Rebecca Lindenberg, “Catalogue of Ephemera” from Love, an Index (via lydianea)
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“My memory of men is never lit up and illuminated like my memory of women.”
– Marguerite Duras, The Lover (translated by Barbara Bray)
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“Spiderlike, I spin mirrors,
Loyal to my image,
Uttering nothing but...”
– Sylvia Plath, from “Childless Woman”
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“pain bruises us all to a more intimate shade—
how green were the birds in...”
– Breyten Breytenbach, from “Dreams Are Also Wounds” (translated by André Brink)
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“I write to live.”
– bell hooks, “Remembered Rapture: Dancing with Words“
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“Of the many mysteries attending Plath (for example, whether or not she’d...”
– Heidi Julavits, The Vanishers
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“We must leave evidence. Evidence that we were here, that we existed, that we...”
– Mia Mingus
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“When my words were wheat
I was earth.
When my words were anger
I was storm....”
– Mahmoud Darwish, “Words” (translated by Rana Kabbani)
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“What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life?
The world would...”
– Muriel Rukeyser, from “Käthe Kollwitz”
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“everything is lost except words […] at a certain moment for the person who has...”
– Leora Skolkin-Smith, “On Helene Cixous’ So Close” (via Time Immemorial)
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“My poems bloom naked as roses.”
– Adonis, from “Elegy for the Time at Hand” (translated by Samuel Hazo)
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“I sit in the dark. And it would be hard to figure out
Which is worse: The dark...”
– Joseph Brodsky, from “I Sit by the Window” (translated by Howard Moss)
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“Language and, presumably, literature are more ancient and inevitable, more...”
– Joseph Brodsky
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“Language is the music of thought; it is what our ancestors called the soul.”
– Andrei Voznesensky
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“I scatter my voice to the four corners of the town
the water shapes time there...”
– Abdourahman Waberi, from “Truce” (translated by Patrick Williamson)
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“What to do with this grief today? I don’t know what good is sadness unless we...”
– Sandra Cisneros from her April 14, 2011 letter (via popca)
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“Water: no matter how much, there is still not enough.
Come rain, come thunder,...”
– Marin Sorescu, from “Fountains in the Sea” (translated by Seamus Heaney and Joana Russell-Gebbett)
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“Sometimes I myself have been sublime, I myself have been a masterpiece.”
– Henri Barbusse, Hell (translated by Edward J. O’Brien)
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“Down there the scent of the sap and the flowers from the many gardens near the...”
– Henri Barbusse, Hell (translated by Edward J. O’Brien)
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“I am more sensitive than other people. Things that other people would not notice...”
– Henri Barbusse, Hell (translated by Edward J. O’Brien)
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“A poet worth reading lives in the present, which keeps changing continuously...”
– Charles Simic, “Poetry and Utopia”
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“In a sense, it seems I am drowning; already half-drowned to the ordinary...”
– H. D., Tribute to Freud (via proustitute)
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“I exist only when I am writing. I am nothing when I am not writing. I am fully a...”
– Ingeborg Bachmann in her acceptance speech for the Anton-Wildgans-Preis received in 1972. (via rimeswriting)
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“Let us deceive ourselves a little
while Let us pretend that air
is earth ...”
– May Swenson, “Secure” (via Inward Bound Poetry)
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“I write about what I love. I love writing even more than what I write about. And...”
– Vera Pavlova, from “Heaven Is Not Verbose: A Notebook”, translated by Steven Seymour (via litverve)
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“When I am lonely for boys it’s their bodies I miss. I study their hands lifting...”
– Margaret Atwood, Cat’s Eye
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“Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do...”
– W. S. Merwin, “Separation” (via proustitute)
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Women of color reading project →
pengpenguins:
A list of radical literature by/about WOC.
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“Often she had seemed to herself to be moving among those vanished figures of old...”
– Virginia Woolf, Night And Day. (via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)
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“Living means wanting everything that is, everything that lives, and wanting it...”
– Hélène Cixous, “The Laugh of the Medusa” (translated by Keith Cohen and Paula Cohen) 