“Every day we slaughter our finest impulses. That is why we get a heartache when we read those lines written by the hand of a master and recognize them as our own, as the tender shoots which we stifled because we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty. Every man, when he gets quiet, when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths. We all derive from the same source. there is no mystery about the origin of things. We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up, only to discover what is already there.”
Henry Miller, Sexus (via colporteur)

(via lifeinpoetry)

“Language back then was a fly behind
my eyelid and I was getting even harder

to love.”
— Morgan Parker, “Black Ego (Original Sound Track),” published in Hyperallergic .
“Wanna make a monster? Take the parts of yourself that make you uncomfortable—your weaknesses, bad thoughts, vanities, and hungers—and pretend they’re across the room. It’s too ugly to be human. It’s too ugly to be you. Children are afraid of the dark because they have nothing real to work with. Adults are afraid of themselves.”
“But I do not wish to escape to myself, I wish to escape from myself. I wish to obliterate my consciousness and my knowledge of independent existence, my guilts, my secretiveness, what you would (perhaps unkindly) call my “hypocrisy”. I am no child of nature, I am ugly and imperfect to myself, and I cannot through poetry or romantic visions exalt myself to symbolic glory.”
Allen Ginsberg, from a letter to Jack Kerouac (via violentwavesofemotion)

(via myarmisnotalilactree)

“May I be I is the only prayer—not may I be
great or good or beautiful or wise or strong.
Almighty God! I thank thee for my soul;
& may I never die spiritually into a mere mind
through disease of loneliness.”
E.E. Cummings, E.E. Cummings: Poet and Painter.
“love is more thicker than forget
more thinner than recall
more seldom than a wave is wet
more frequent than to fail

it is most mad and moonly
and less it shall unbe
than all the sea which only
is deeper than the sea”
E.E. Cummings, “[love is more thicker than forget]”
“I got up in the night and went to the end of the hall. Over the
door in large letters it said, “This is the next life. Please come
in.” I opened the door. Across the room a bearded man in a
pale-green suit turned to me and said, “Better get ready, we’re
taking the long way.” “Now I’ll wake up,” I thought, but I was
wrong. We began our journey over golden tundra and patches
of ice. Then there was nothing for miles around, and all I could
hear was my heart pumping and pumping so hard I thought I
would die all over again.”
Mark Strand, “The Triumph of the Infinite.”
“and I go

down into it, the hall again
(streetlights, blinds)

all the same all the dark

down into it and do what must be done
with my body, with the patience
that I do not have

fellow sufferer, fellow sleeper, not-

sleeper, seeker

night boat, little sail

in the slow air in the rounded dark
inside the broken night

rudderless elliptical

in the stitched-together minute

minute

minute

365 x night x 8 (new)

x 4
x 2
x 8 again (despair, iron)
x 2
x 1, x occasional, x rarity (fever, monsters, light)

= now

= again

once”
Lisa Gluskin Stonestreet, ”Called.”

My poem would eat nothing.
I tried to give it water
but it said no,

worrying me.
Day after day,
I held it up to the light

turning it over,
but it only pressed its lips
more tightly together.

Larry Levis, “The Poem You Asked For.”
“I have my body and you have yours.
Believe it if you can. Negative space is silly.
When you bang on the wall you have to remember
you’re on both sides of it already but go ahead,
yell at yourself.”
Richard Siken, “The Way Light Reflects.”

In the silence of consciousness I asked myself:
why did I reject my life? And I answer
Die Erde überwältigt mich:
the earth defeats me.

I have tried to be accurate in this description
in case someone else should follow me. I can verify
that when the sun sets in winter it is
incomparably beautiful and the memory of it
lasts a long time. I think this means

there was no night.
The night was in my head.

Louise Glück, from “Landscape,” Averno  (via mirroir).

(via lifeinpoetry)

“One night, in an old church,
I considered taking my life.
I didnt know how to be so young
and not belong anywhere, stuck
among so many perplexing melodies.”
Philip Schultz, “Specimen,” Failure:Poems.
“The events in our lives happen in a sequence in time, but in their significance to ourselves they find their own order.”
Eudora Welty, from “Learning to See” in One Writer’s Beginnings (Harvard University Press, 1984).
“I cannot keep it up.
Nobody I know can keep it up.
Late at night there is this fear
of suddenly nothing
which comes out of nowhere.
Everything is turning out just how I expected.”
Philip Schultz, “Savage Feelings.”
“Try, as best you can, not to let
The wire brush of doubt
Scrape from your heart
All sense of yourself
And your hesitant light.”
John O’Donohue, “To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings” (via portermoto).