“It is the job of poetry to clean up our word-clogged reality by creating silences around things.” ~Stephen Mallarme
* “I want my dark lady. I want my angel. I want my tempter. I want the lighter of my seven lamps of beauty, honour, laughter, music, love, life and immortality. I want my inspiration, my folly, my happiness, my divinity, my madness, my selfishness, my final sanity and sanctification, my transfiguration, my purification, my light across the sea, my palm across the desert, my garden of lovely flowers, my million nameless joys, my day’s wage, my night’s dream, my darling and my star.” ~ George Bernard Shaw in...
DREAMS Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams For when dreams go Life is a barren field Frozen with snow. Langston Hughes (1902 – 1967 / Missouri/The United States) Drawing of Langston Hughes by Winold Reiss
The silent friendliness of the moon (misquoting Virgil) accompanies you since that one night or evening lost in time now, on which your restless eyes first deciphered her forever in a garden or patio turned to dust. Forever? I know someone, someday will be able to tell you truthfully: ‘You’ll never see the bright moon again, You’ve now achieved the unalterable sum of moments granted you by fate. Useless to open every window in the world. Too late. You’ll not find her.’ We live discovering and forgetting that sweet...
The sky a black sphere, the sea a black disk. The lighthouse opens its solar fan on the coast. Spinning endlessly at night, whom is it searching for when the mortal heart looks for me in the chest? Look at the black rock where it is nailed down. A crow digs endlessly but no longer bleeds. Alfonsina Storni
Love,through your spirit and mine what summer eve Now glows with glory of all things possess’d, Since this day’s sun of rapture filled the west And the light sweetened as the fire took leave? Awhile now softlier let your bosom heave, As in Love’s harbour, even that loving breast, All care takes refuge while we sink to rest, And mutual dreams the bygone bliss retrieve. Many the days that Winter keeps in store, Sunless throughout, or whose brief sun-glimpses Scarce shed the heaped snow through the naked trees, This...
‘Poetry is the revelation of a feeling that the poet believes to be interior and personal which the reader recognizes as his own.’ Salvatore Quasimodo
“The problems of the world cannot possibly be solved by skeptics or cynics whose horizons are limited by the obvious realities. We need men who can dream of things that never were.” John Keats
“Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depths of some devine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy autumn fields, And thinking of the days that are no more.” Alfred Lord Tennyson
I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests. ~Pablo Neruda, quoted in Wall Street Journal,, 14 November 1985