March 2012
17 posts
: For the DeadI dreamed I called you on the... →
growing-orbits:
For the Dead
I dreamed I called you on the telephone to say: Be kinder to yourself but you were sick and would not answer
The waste of my love goes on this way trying to save you from yourself
I have always wondered about the left-over energy, the way water goes rushing down a hill long…
“For Denise Levertov
Over the half-finished houses
night comes. The builders...”
– Adrienne Rich, from “The Roofwalker”
(I found this in my drafts folder.)
“My love has two lives, in order to love you:
That’s why I love you when I do...”
– Pablo Neruda, from “Sonnet XLIV” (Afternoon), in 100 Love Sonnets, translated by S. Tapscott (via growing-orbits)
“There are things sadder
than you and I. Some people
do not even touch.”
– Sonia Sanchez, Haiku (via grammatolatry)
“Why should it all
Be lost?
Why should time take away
That day by the river?...”
– Gregory Orr, from Concerning the Book that is the Body of the Beloved (via growing-orbits)
“To face the problem is not to solve it. But once a woman faces it, as women are...”
– Betty Friedan, The Feminine Mystique
Published in 1963 by W. W. Norton.
(via wwnorton)
“Blot out the moon, pull down the stars. Love in the dark, for we’re for the dark...”
– Jean Rhys, Wide Sargasso Sea
Published by W.W. Norton in 1966
(via wwnorton)
“And yet, words are the passkeys to our souls. Without them, we can’t really...”
– Diane Ackerman, One Hundred Names For Love (via wwnorton)
W. W. Norton: The Homosexual Agenda →
wwnorton:
Classic comment from a discussion on the lawblog The Volokh Conspiracy of the New Yorker review of Dale Carpenter’s Flagrant Conduct:
I suppose this needs repeating every once in a while:
Surely you’ve heard of the “Homosexual Agenda” over the years. Yet no one has actually seen the…
MUSE by Linda Pastan
MUSE after reading Rilke
No angel speaks to me. And though the wind plucks the dry leaves as if they were so many notes of music, I can hear no words.
Still, I listen. I search the feathery shapes of clouds hoping to find the curve of a wing. And sometimes, when the static of the world clears just for a moment
a small voice comes through, chastening. Music is its own language, it...
