Posts Tagged: poetry

Adrienne Rich – A Human Eye

“Wherever I turn these days, I’m looking, as from the corner of my eye, for a certain kind of poetry whose balance of dread and beauty is equal to the chaotic negations that pursue us. Amid profiteering language, commoditizing of

Adrienne Rich – A Human Eye

“Wherever I turn these days, I’m looking, as from the corner of my eye, for a certain kind of poetry whose balance of dread and beauty is equal to the chaotic negations that pursue us. Amid profiteering language, commoditizing of

Louise Glück – two poems

The Pond Night covers the pond with its wing. Under the ringed moon I can make out your face swimming among minnows and the small echoing stars. In the night air the surface of the pond is metal. _ Within,

Louise Glück – two poems

The Pond Night covers the pond with its wing. Under the ringed moon I can make out your face swimming among minnows and the small echoing stars. In the night air the surface of the pond is metal. _ Within,

Tracy K. Smith – Life on Mars

Sci-Fi There will be no edges, but curves. Clean lines pointing only forward.   History, with its hard spine & dog-eared Corners, will be replaced with nuance,   Just like the dinosaurs gave way To mounds and mounds of ice.

Tracy K. Smith – Life on Mars

Sci-Fi There will be no edges, but curves. Clean lines pointing only forward.   History, with its hard spine & dog-eared Corners, will be replaced with nuance,   Just like the dinosaurs gave way To mounds and mounds of ice.

The Angels – Rainer Maria Rilke

They all have tired mouths and bright seamless souls. And a longing (as for sin) sometimes haunts their dream.   They are almost all alike; in God’s gardens they keep still, like many, many intervals in his might and melody.

The Angels – Rainer Maria Rilke

They all have tired mouths and bright seamless souls. And a longing (as for sin) sometimes haunts their dream.   They are almost all alike; in God’s gardens they keep still, like many, many intervals in his might and melody.

Rainer Maria Rilke – The Book of Hours

Why am I reaching again for the brushes? When I paint your portrait, God, nothing happens. But I can choose to feel you. At my senses’ horizon you appear hesitantly, like scattered islands. Yet standing here, peering out, I’m all

Rainer Maria Rilke – The Book of Hours

Why am I reaching again for the brushes? When I paint your portrait, God, nothing happens. But I can choose to feel you. At my senses’ horizon you appear hesitantly, like scattered islands. Yet standing here, peering out, I’m all

Adrienne Rich – Notebooks on Poetry and Politics

What is political activisim anyway? It’s something both prepared for and spontaneous – like making poetry. When we do and think and feel certain things privately and in secret, even when thousands of people are doing, thinking, whispering these things

Adrienne Rich – Notebooks on Poetry and Politics

What is political activisim anyway? It’s something both prepared for and spontaneous – like making poetry. When we do and think and feel certain things privately and in secret, even when thousands of people are doing, thinking, whispering these things