place of found things

[neo-catharsis]

Shadow Piece, Chieko Shiomi, 1963

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“Nobody ever loved anybody the way I love you…and nobody ever loved anybody the way you love me.”

— Eugen Boissevain, from a letter to Edna St. Vincent Millay c. June 1940

[terivarhol]

Stardust Sea (2017-08-03)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“I have only one wretched life, but it belongs to you;”

— Victor Hugo, from a letter to Adèle Foucher written c. March 1820

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“You say she is often restless, and anxious-looking: is that a proof of tranquillity? You talk of her mind being unsettled. How the devil could it be otherwise in her frightful isolation?”

— Emily Brontë, from The Collected Novels; “Wuthering Heights,”

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“Look at yourselves from a distance, I cried, look at yourselves from a distance of stars.”

— Wislawa Szymborska, from Poems: New & Collected; “Cassandra,”

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“I’d be sad if trees stopped telling the truth. I mean really, really sad,”

— Bob Hicok, from This Clumsly Living; “Left to my Own Devices,”

[drakontomalloi]

Anonymous artist - An optical device with a miniature garden scene. N.d., XIXth century

[lilli-lu-68]

[an-itinerant-poet-deactivated20]

“somewhere a wild apricot tree stands still for a moment and blooms, but just with a very thin veil on the outspread branches before going on regardless”

— Inger Christensen, from  Alphabet (New Directions, 2001)

[apoemaday]

Pine Tree Tops

by Gary Snyder

In the blue night frost haze, the sky glows with the moon pine tree tops bend snow-blue, fade into sky, frost, starlight. The creak of boots. Rabbit tracks, deer tracks, what do we know.

[archive-94]

Oonark, Shaman in Flight, ca. 1970

[ohsylvia]

“I talk to myself and look at the dark trees, blessedly neutral. So much easier than facing people, than having to look happy, invulnerable, clever. With masks down, I walk, talking to the moon, to the neutral impersonal force that does not hear, but merely accepts my being.”

— Sylvia Plath, The Journals of Sylvia Plath (via shezoibra)

[an-itinerant-poet-deactivated20]

“[…] there’s nothing arid about the way I miss you; your sentences and your very writing is so tangible, so much you, that I feel as though I’d just seen you.”

— Simone de Beauvoir, in a letter to Jean-Paul Sartre, featured in Letters to Sartre (via minima–moralia)

[an-itinerant-poet-deactivated20]

“and I am only nerves, strung on constellations, meridians and vectors quivering.”

— Cynthia Huntington, from “Meds” in Heavenly Bodies (Southern Illinois University Press, 2012)

[lifeinpoetry]

Keep awe bare like sound at night.

— Soham Patel, from “Mixed with always:” published in Poem-a-Day

[metaphorformetaphor]

“Outside, a late fall of snow was silently drifting down. Time seemed to have come to a standstill.”

— Maxence Fermine, from The Black Violin (Atria Books, 2003)