#poetic memory

[jonathanmoya1955]

The Purple Glass

The Purple Glass‘It has no use’”, my mother said, when she took the purple glassfrom the highest shelfand placed it in my trembling left hand.Too small for flowersand shallow for wine,mellow and musky,the color of wilting violetswithering to the thinnest lavender essence. Yet, it mirrored itself in my bedroom window— a soft amethyst washin the Tennessee sunset.I remember her night gown bright as…

The Purple Glass

[allofthehousethatstood]

You are light: you will sleep through my Spring till

it's over.

I am lighter:

in front of strangers I sing.

Paul Celan, from "Night Ray" in Selected Poems

[maynaiad]

What if...the warmth you feel enveloping you is merely a flicker of light of a dead star?

[oysterbunnies]

But I’m still time zones away from who I was the day before we met. You were the first mile where my heart broke a sweat, and I wish you were here; I wish you’d never left; but mostly I wish you well. I wish you my very, very best.

Andrea Gibson, from "Photograph"

[oysterbunnies]

Could a greater miracle take place than for us to look through each other’s eyes for an instant?

Henry David Thoreau

[scareaphina]

I have said before that metaphors are dangerous. Love begins with a metaphor. Which is to say, love begins at the point when a woman enters her first word into our poetic memory.

Milan Kundera, "The Unbearable Lightness of Being"

[jseej]

A single metaphor can give birth to love.

― Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

[ilichgalicia]

"It seems as if a totally specific region existed in the brain, that could denominate “poetic memory” and that registered what it has affected to us, enchanted, that has made beautiful our life." Milan Kundera