#johnburnside

[robinallender]

Rereading John Burnside’s incredible Waking Up in Toytown on a beautiful wintry morning in Newcastle –

the dead who never belonged to anyone, not even themselves, will go on forever, or some element of them will, folding endlessly into rain and leaves and new animals hunting in the first grey of dawn.

[c-194419]

“Instead they talked: on and on, they talked about nothing, unraveling the world in their tedious, ugly converse. This is the nature of social existence. We talk in order to impose limits, to contain the world in a narrow frame. Yet every textbook on language proceeds upon an assumption of communication, concerning itself with structure and grammar, with meaningful exchange, with the possibility of analysis.”

John Burnside - The Dumb House

[fjmolteni]

#johnburnside #swimminglesson #swimmingintheflood #capepoetry #books #poetry #sundaysuggestions #swimming (at Berkelouw Books Paddington)

[emilhandke]

From John Burnside’s poem, Loved and Lost: Give me a childhood again and I will live as owls do, in the moss and curvature of nightfall -glimpsed, but never really seen,

[katherinesandoz]

…everything was finite and alive, cradled in warmth against the ache of space… #johnburnside #katherinesandoz #marshscape 3’ x 4’, water-based media on canvas, 2016

[galaxyoda-blog]

#JohnBurnside #DeHumanisCorporisFabrica #talkingoutsoft #tumblr #life #love #lover #besideyou #quote #quotes #quotablequotes #poemsporn #wordporn #wordvomit #relationship #tumblr #repost #thoughts #you #iloveyou #loveyou #intimacy #intimate #people #human #story #stories #vulnerable #vulnerability #nonrelationship #madness

[dharmabum61]

[southsideblues]

Amor Vincit Omnia

by John Burnside

Find me when summer ends and the lamps are everything. I have practised being the one to whom you return, if not the betrothed, then at least the autumnal familiar, the almost unveiled. Songlike and lost in the mist, I have made you a bed of fingerprints and outlook and those footsteps that go in the dark through a litmus of snow to seek benediction. Call it a house of cards, or a hall of mirrors, but nothing will measure you here

and find you wanting.