Loading...
problem loading posts
All She Wrote by Harryette Mullen

All She Wrote by Harryette Mullen

- Emily Dickinson

- Emily Dickinson

L’art by Ezra Pound

L’art by Ezra Pound

‘The Agamemnon Rag’ by Jack Conway

‘The Agamemnon Rag’ by Jack Conway
‘Mirror’ by Sylvia Plath finest part: “like a terrible fish”

‘Mirror’ by Sylvia Plath

finest part: “like a terrible fish”

from Fern Hill by Dylan Thomas

from Fern Hill by Dylan Thomas

fishingboatproceeds: At Alfredo Jaar’s Park of the Laments at the IMA, in the midst of a long bike ride, cloudless sky, feeling the kind of happy that you can never explain to people because there is no particular reason for the feeling: I just like riding my bike. It wakes me up. Opens the eyes of my eyes. This feeling is such a close cousin of the kind of sadness I feel driving at night by myself—that pure almost pleasant sadness that you also can’t ever explain to anyone. Anyway it all reminds me of this poem by ee cummings. Nothing particularly fancy about it. It just captures the feeling for me. i thank You God for most this amazing day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes (i who have died am alive again today, and this is the sun’s birthday;this is the birth day of life and love and wings:and of the gay great happening illimitably earth) how should tasting touching hearing seeing breathing any-lifted from the no of all nothing-human merely being doubt unimaginable You? (now the ears of my ears awake and now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

fishingboatproceeds:

At Alfredo Jaar’s Park of the Laments at the IMA, in the midst of a long bike ride, cloudless sky, feeling the kind of happy that you can never explain to people because there is no particular reason for the feeling: I just like riding my bike. It wakes me up. Opens the eyes of my eyes.

This feeling is such a close cousin of the kind of sadness I feel driving at night by myself—that pure almost pleasant sadness that you also can’t ever explain to anyone.

Anyway it all reminds me of this poem by ee cummings. Nothing particularly fancy about it. It just captures the feeling for me.

i thank You God for most this amazing day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today, and this is the sun’s birthday;this is the birth day of life and love and wings:and of the gay great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing breathing any-lifted from the no of all nothing-human merely being doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

from ‘Healing a Lunatic Boy’ by Charles Causely (full poem)

from ‘Healing a Lunatic Boy’ by Charles Causely (full poem)

‘Hyperion’ by John Keats

‘Hyperion’ by John Keats

from ‘Ode on Melancholy’ by John Keats — “His soul shall taste the sadness of her might” …oh Keats…how did you do it?

from ‘Ode on Melancholy’ by John Keats

— “His soul shall taste the sadness of her might” …oh Keats…how did you do it?

Ash on an old man’s sleeve
Is all the ash the burnt roses leave.
Dust in the air suspended
Marks the place where a story ended.
Dust inbreathed was a house—
The walls, the wainscot and the mouse,
The death of hope and despair,
This is the death of air.

There are flood and drouth
Over the eyes and in the mouth,
Dead water and dead sand
Contending for the upper hand.
The parched eviscerate soil
Gapes at the vanity of toil,
Laughs without mirth.
This is the death of earth.

Water and fire succeed
The town, the pasture and the weed.
Water and fire deride
The sacrifice that we denied.
Water and fire shall rot
The marred foundations we forgot,
Of sanctuary and choir.
This is the death of water and fire.

- from ‘Little Gidding’ by T.S. Eliot

1 2 3