I HEAR IT IN THE DEEP HEART'S CORE

and I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow

                 A poem,
like trying
to remember,
is a movement
of the whole body.

Rosmarie Waldrop, from “The Ambition of Ghosts: I. Remembering into Sleep,” Another Language: Selected Poems (Talisman House Publishers, 1997)

jimlovesart:

Ma Yuan (1160-1225) was a Song Dynasty Chinese painter and you can’t help but marvel at his mastery of the human figure when Europe was just starting to figure out linear perspective at the time.

(via cithaerons)

When this day returns to me
I will value your heart,
long hurt in long division,
over mine. Mouth above mine too —
say you love me, truth never more
meant, say you are angry.
Words, words we net with our mouths.
Soul is an old thirst but not as first
as the body’s perhaps,
though on bad nights its melancholy
eats us out, to a person.
True, time is undigressing.
Yet true is all we can be:
rhyming you, rhyming me.

Lisa Russ Spaar, “Temple on My Knees,” Poetry (September 2013)

shakypigment:

Ludwig Fahrenkrog - Schicksal (Fate), circa 1917

shakypigment:

Ludwig Fahrenkrog - Schicksal (Fate), circa 1917

(via barnsburntdownnow)

art-and-things-of-beauty:

Nicolaes Pietersz Berghem (Dutch, 1620-1683) - Studies of a horse’s head, oil on canvas, 29 x 36,2 cm.

art-and-things-of-beauty:

Nicolaes Pietersz Berghem (Dutch, 1620-1683) - Studies of a horse’s head, oil on canvas, 29 x 36,2 cm.

Ghost Town - The Vaccines

(Source: play-listings)

1 day ago - 60

There is no present. There is a past haunted by the future and a future tormented by the past.

Edmond Jabès, from “Pre-Dialogue, II,” trans. Rosmarie Waldrop, From the Book to the Book: An Edmond Jabès Reader (Wesleyan University Press, 1991)

onzeheures:

Bon Iver || Holocene

And at once I knew, I was not magnificent
Strayed above the highway aisle

(via mutamur)

1 day ago - 345

there has to be a kind of   speech
beyond naming, or even praise,

a discipline
that locates light and lets it go.

Nate Klug, from “Observer,” Poetry (September 2013)

I walk in a borrowed self,
a drift of mist
left from a smoking lake.

Even when I sit still as a dead wind,
the sun still eats me.
My skin turns back to sea-foam
peeling away from a loaned skin.

With luck the melt is slow,
the thinning of a stone
or the thinning of love
to its weary core:
that hoard guarded
as if the last few seeds.

Zona Teti, “Joan Outside,” Mississippi Review (vol. 19, no. 3, 1991)

(Source: apoetreflects)

The shade
falls like a lover’s sad black eyes.
Lie under me, speak of other worlds.

Jane Miller, closing lines to “I Saw the Sun Rise in the West Today,” Mississippi Review (vol. 39, no. 1-3, 2012)

(Source: apoetreflects)

dwellerinthelibrary:

"Another tradition describes the Sirens as fatal birds. They were in communication with the underworld and their singing comforted the deceased on their journey to the realm of the dead. From about 400 BC, Sirens also occur on tombs. They more or less evolved into angels of death, who conducted the deceased to the Islands of the Blessed… The same thing happened with other sea creatures, for instance Scylla. The mermaid-like Siren shown here cradles a small child in her arms. Statuettes such as this one were used as funeral gifts, to illustrate that the deceased was making the journey to the afterworld under the guidance of a Siren."
- Moya Smith (ed). Ancient Lives: Greeks, Romans & Etruscans: artefacts from the collection of the National Museum of Antiquities at Leiden, the Netherlands.

dwellerinthelibrary:

"Another tradition describes the Sirens as fatal birds. They were in communication with the underworld and their singing comforted the deceased on their journey to the realm of the dead. From about 400 BC, Sirens also occur on tombs. They more or less evolved into angels of death, who conducted the deceased to the Islands of the Blessed… The same thing happened with other sea creatures, for instance Scylla. The mermaid-like Siren shown here cradles a small child in her arms. Statuettes such as this one were used as funeral gifts, to illustrate that the deceased was making the journey to the afterworld under the guidance of a Siren."

- Moya Smith (ed). Ancient Lives: Greeks, Romans & Etruscans: artefacts from the collection of the National Museum of Antiquities at Leiden, the Netherlands.

(via barnsburntdownnow)

Where are my teeth and shining eyes my
slim knees, easy lope, rib
caged
birds skipping through the covenant
I thought was my heart.

The crosshairs of the lumps in my shoulders.
The dead little finger of the right hand,
you’d leave them? Where do we go

without our friends, these cubits of flesh.
What river can we use to
find what sea
that wouldn’t throw us back.

Ray Amorosi, from “In Fear of Leaving My Body,” Crazyhorse (Spring 2009)

cavetocanvas:

Eric Fischl, Hysterics of Love, 1997

(via crisdehaine)

I drowned in the fire of having you, I burned
In the river of not having you, we lived
Together for hours in a house of a thousand rooms
And we were parted for a thousand years.

Robert Pinsky, from “Antique,” Gulf Music (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2007)