“I had a dream once,
perhaps it was a dream,
that the crab was my ignorance of God.
But who am I to believe in dreams?”
The Poet of Ignorance, by Anne Sexton.
He found one word, one only for the moon.
The Waves, by Virginia Woolf.
“why are we still you?”
-ex patria, by Evie Shockley.
(—) So it's back.
You'll never be mentally sober.
On Rachmaninoff's Birthday, in Lunch Poems by Frank O'Hara.
poeticque reblogged
Blondell Cummings, “Chocolate”, 1983. “Food for Thought”
“You fear the wrong things. Your fear is the wrong fear.”
Short Talk on No One to Talk to, by Anne Carson.
poeticque reblogged
I know this is nonsense, but you're clever enough to understand nonsense.
Iris Murdoch, from 'The Sea, the Sea'
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“August 2nd. Something wants to be said but the words don’t agree.”
— Tomas Tranströmer, from “Baltics”, The Great Enigma: New Collected Poems (trans. Robin Fulton)
Emily Dickinson, from “No crowd that has occurred” (Poem #515), Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson
[Text ID: “August–Absorbed–Numb”]
Everything depends on what the individual can make of being betrayed. And in order to be betrayed you need – you might have to find, to recruit, to seduce – a betrayer...
Betrayal is an uncanny form of intimacy.
Judas’ Gift, by Adam Phillips.
We have to bear something simple but significant in mind: that in betraying someone (or something) one is protecting someone (or something) else.
Judas’ Gift, by Adam Phillips.
And that someone or something else may be – in fact is likely to be – of real value. (cont.)
Here the betrayer is someone who wanted something to change;
Judas’ Gift, by Adam Phillips.
Everything made by human hands is a thing. That is the only general definition I will allow myself.
Man and Things, Vladimir Nabokov.
"Hmm, yes . . . a thing."
Three Sisters, Anton Chekhov.
