#inger christensen

[thenervebible]

Inger Christensen tr. Susanna Nied

[badnights]

Inger Christensen, Light, Grass, and Letter in April (tr. Susanna Nied)

[riverbird]

"early fall exists; aftertaste, afterthought; seclusion and angels exist; widows and elk exist; every  detail exists; memory, memory’s light; afterglow exists; oaks, elms, junipers, sameness, loneliness exist; eider duck, spiders, and vinegar exist, and the future, the future" Inger Christensen, from "Alphabet" (trans. Susanna Nied)

[violettesiren]

I write like the early spring that writes the common alphabet of anemones beeches violets wood-sorrel

I write like childlike summer like thunder over domed treetops whitegold of ripening lightning and wheat

I write like autumn marked for death like restless hopes lightstorms slicing fog memory

I write like winter write like snow and ice and cold darkness death write

I write like the beating heart writes the skeleton the nails the teeth the hair the skull their silence

I write like the beating heart writes the hands the feet the skin the lips the sex their whisper

I write like the beating heart writes the muscles the lungs the face the brain the nerves their sound

I write like the beating heart writes the blood the cells the visions the tears the tongue their cry

from Alphabet by Inger Christensen

[lascitasdelashoras]

Inger Christensen

[absenceisaformofwinter]

By Inger Christensen

[roughghosts]

The woman on page eight: Azorno by Inger Christensen

Believe me, I know how dangerous it is to dream of Azorno. Believe me, I know how dangerous it is. I have known Azorno long enough to realize that it’s not dreams that come true. Danish poet Inger Christensen, in her essay “It’s All Words,” insists that: “ . . . poems aren’t made out of experiences, or out of thoughts, ideas, or musings about anything. Poems are made out of words.” To some…

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[sapphireshorelines]

‘‘Today life opened inside me like an egg’’

Avocados are my favorite fruit. Every Sunday my grandfather used to bring me an avocado pear hidden at the bottom of his briefcase under six soiled shirts and the Sunday comics. He taught me how to eat avocados by melting grape jelly and french dressing together in a saucepan and filling the cup of the pear with the garnet sauce. I felt homesick for that sauce. The crabmeat tasted bland in comparison.

‘I’ve got to talk to you, have you got time?’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘let’s have an orange.’

•••

[Text ID in Alt Text]

Anne Sexton, Live / mango tree at my grandparents / William Carlos Williams, This is just to say / Syliva Plath, The Bell Jar / Katherine Larson, Radial Symmetry / Inger Christensen, Alphabet / Call Me By Your Name / Jhumpa Lahiri, Whereabouts / Jeanette Winterson, Oranges are not the only fruit / Syliva Plath, The Bell Jar / Virginia Woolf, Room of One's Own / Kiki's Delivery Service