All things become islands before my senses,
which accept them as a matter of course: a murmur of silence.
All things in this darkness—I can know all of them,
just as I know that blood flows in my veins.
Cesare Pavese, from “Passion for Solitude,” trans. Geoffrey Brock, Disaffections: Complete Poems 1930-1950 (Copper Canyon Press, 2002)
When deeds splay before us
precious as gold & unused chances
stripped from the whine-bone,
we know the moment kindheartedness
If we can see it push shadows
aside, growing closer, are we less
Yusef Komunyakaa, from “Kindness,” Poetry (March 2003)
CRND Top Ten Countdown Number 10
Wish You Were Here - Pink Floyd
“And isn’t the whole world yours? For how often you set it on fire with your love and saw it blaze and burn up and secretly replaced it with another world while everyone slept. You felt in such complete harmony with God, when every morning you asked him for a new earth, so that all the ones he had made could have their turn. You thought it would be shabby to save them and repair them; you used them up and held out your hands, again and again, for more world. For your love was equal to everything.”
—Rainer Maria Rilke, from The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge, trans. Michael Hulse, (Penguin Classics, 2009)
Virgil (via fables-of-the-reconstruction)
Surrounded by bone, surrounded by cells,
by rings, by rings of hell, by hair, surrounded by
air-is-a-thing, surrounded by silhouette, by honey-wet bees, yet
by skeletons of trees, surrounded by actual, yes, for practical
purposes, people, surrounded by surreal
popcorn, surrounded by the reborn: Surrender in the center
Jack Collom, from “Ecology,” Red Car Goes By: Selected Poems 1955-2000 (Tuumba Press, 2001)
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep, Mary Elizabeth Frye (1932)
Passage at Dusk
Carlo Betocchi, from “Summer,” trans. Geoffrey Brock, Poetry (March 2010)
I know the petrified trees,
the agony of seconds
when the wind changes,
leaving only teeth
to remember your lips by.
from “The Island,” Christopher DeWeese (via blutetragen)
Animal studies by Edwin Henry Landseer, R.A. (London 1802-1873)
As the light goes, go.
Be the rustling in the grass, the fall from
convention’s good graces: learn, or someone
will have you filing files or writing writs,
demonstrating cutlery or selling knowledge
door to door; someone might even drop
your lovely life into a factory and have you
derusting rings on the coolant-spouting
turntable of a vertical lathe.
John Surowiecki, from “What I Know About Epistemology,” Poetry (April 2003)