June 2011
46 posts
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C. D. Wright, "Gift of the Book"
sharingpoetry:
lights go off all over rhode island everyone falls into bed I stay awake reading re-reading the long-awaited prose of your body stunned by the hunger
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Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves.
– Henry David Thoreau, Walden
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You wonder what I am doing? Well, so do I, in truth. Days seem to dawn, suns to...
– Letter from T.E. Lawrence to Eric Kennington, May 6th 1935
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Although we read with our minds, the seat of artistic delight is between the...
– Vladimir Nabokov
Billy Collins, "Forgetfulness" →
sharingpoetry:
The name of the author is the first to go followed obediently by the title, the plot, the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel which suddenly becomes one you have never read, never even heard of, as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor decided to retire to the southern hemisphere…
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William Carlos Williams, "Landscape with The Fall...
sharingpoetry:
According to Brueghel when Icarus fell it was spring a farmer was ploughing his field the whole pageantry of the year was awake tingling near the edge of the sea concerned with itself sweating in the sun that melted the wings’ wax unsignificantly off the coast there was a splash quite unnoticed this was Icarus drowning - Brueghel’s painting (source; submitted by...
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All my life, my heart has yearned for a thing I cannot name.
– André Breton
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Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.
– Ernest Hemingway
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I Missed His Book, But I Read His Name
Though authors are a dreadful clan To be avoided if you can, I’d like to meet the Indian, M. Anantanarayanan.
I picture him as short and tan. We’d meet, perhaps, in Hindustan. I’d say, with admirable élan, “Ah, Anantanarayanan —
I’ve heard of you. The Times once ran A notice on your novel, an Ununusal tale of God and Man.” And Anantanarayanan
Would seat...
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May 2011
35 posts
I love bed.