And who are we to make sense of this slit of impossible time?
Joy Harjo, In Mad Love and War; “Original Memory”
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And who are we to make sense of this slit of impossible time?
Joy Harjo, In Mad Love and War; “Original Memory”
Man finds himself on the earth whether he likes it or not, with nowhere else to go. What then is to become of him? Obviously we can't stand still or we shall be destroyed. Then if there is no room for us on the outside we shall, in spite of ourselves, have to go in: into the cell, the atom, the poetic line, for our discoveries. We have to break the old apart to make room for ourselves, whatever may be our tragedy and however we may fear it.
William Carlos Williams, in his introduction to Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass
Dieu Dinh, Tender Cracks; “Mortality Part II”
Joy Harjo, In Mad Love and War; “Eagle Poem”
[...] i stand on the cliff of humanity’s magic, and i don’t want to jump anymore.
Mary Lambert, Shame Is an Ocean I Swim Across; “God Damn You, Sarah McLachlan”
Dissolute souls, fulfill your destiny, run from the infinite inside yourselves.
Charles Baudelaire, tr. Aaron Poochigian, The Flowers of Evil, from “Flowers of Evil”; “The Damned Women: Delphine and Hippolyta”
All people are complex All people want to be loved However, I’ve found that simple people are a gaggle of unicorns Who have cut their complexities in half They still exist as their whole selves Just maimed in sad ways
Mary Lambert, Shame Is an Ocean I Swim Across; “Brain Conditioning”
Seeing creatures fly, blessed with a similar privilege by the Creator, my soul is filled with the kind of jealousy that siblings often feel. / To think that there are so many wings in the world, and that man, God's favored son, was granted none. / [...] / Only man has to wander stuck to his roads no less than worms, who can't lift one foot unless the other foot is on the ground, anchored to the earth, hauled in by the earth under the fruitless harvest of the stars.
Dulce María Loynaz, tr. James O’Connor, Absolute Solitude: Selected Poems; “LXXIX”