reblogged 1 year ago / reblog
Sep

♥ 362

via

We are alone, alone with what we are.

~Henri Coulette, from “The Attic” (via the-final-sentence)  

  # Henri Coulette    # The Attic    # lit    # poetry  

reblogged 1 year ago / reblog
Sep

♥ 7

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aculturedcitizen:

vintovnik:

(via fuckyeah-owlstuff)

aculturedcitizen:

vintovnik:

(via fuckyeah-owlstuff)


  # owl    # poetry    # art  

reblogged 1 year ago / reblog
Aug

♥ 220

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The body is a book and we the words.

~Michael Bazzett, from “The Body” (via proustitute)  

  # Michael Bazzett    # poetry    # lit    # bodies    # books    # words  

reblogged 1 year ago / reblog
Aug

♥ 23792

via
source

meanderingwind:

Words ~Breath the words. by Hattie Heart on Flickr.

meanderingwind:

Words ~Breath the words. by Hattie Heart on Flickr.


  # Quotes    # poetry    # Kahlil Gibran    # lit    # art  

reblogged 1 year ago / reblog
Jun

♥ 399

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[From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.]
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

~Robert Frost, from Fire and Ice (thanks, theladydarcy)  

  # poetry    # submission    # robert frost    # lit    # fire and ice  

reblogged 1 year ago / reblog
Jun

♥ 69

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source

poetrysince1912:

the sustained one note of obligatory hope, taken in, like a virus,before the body grows accustomed to it and itbecomes natural again—yes breathe it in,the interlude,the lull
—from “The Violinist at the Window, 1918”, Jorie Graham, Poetry, March 2008

poetrysince1912:

the sustained one note of obligatory
hope, taken in, like a virus,
before the body grows accustomed to it and it
becomes
natural again—yes breathe it in,
the interlude,
the lull

—from “The Violinist at the Window, 1918”, Jorie Graham, Poetry, March 2008


reblogged 1 year ago / reblog
Jun

♥ 351

via

If you pluck out the heart
To find what makes it move,
You’ll halt the clock
That syncopates our love.

~“Admonition” by Sylvia Plath (via the-final-sentence)  

  # Sylvia Plath    # Admonition    # poetry    # lit  

reblogged 1 year ago / reblog
May

♥ 43

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*from Samuel Taylor Coleridge, “Kubla Khan” 

poetryeater:

   Could I revive within me
   Her symphony and song,
   To such a deep delight ’twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.


  # Samuel Taylor Coleridge    # Kubla Khan    # poetry    # lit    # poem  

reblogged 1 year ago / reblog
Apr

♥ 40

via
source

mehreenkasana:


Khirad ko ghulaami se azaar karJawaano ko peeron ka ustaad kar
Allama Muhammad Iqbal - Poet, philosopher and inspirational voice behind Pakistan’s independence movement.

Release humanity from slavery.Let the youth replace their leaders.

Jiggar se wohi teer phir paar karTamanna ko seeno mai baidaar kar

Run that arrow through your heart again.Bring that aspiration in your heart back to life. 

mehreenkasana:

Khirad ko ghulaami se azaar kar
Jawaano ko peeron ka ustaad kar

Allama Muhammad Iqbal - Poet, philosopher and inspirational voice behind Pakistan’s independence movement.

Release humanity from slavery.
Let the youth replace their leaders.

Jiggar se wohi teer phir paar kar
Tamanna ko seeno mai baidaar kar

Run that arrow through your heart again.
Bring that aspiration in your heart back to life. 


  # Urdu    # Poetry    # Freedom    # Pakistan    # South Asia    # Asia    # I need this written over my chest    # Beautiful  

reblogged 2 years ago / reblog
Apr

♥ 21

via

apoetreflects:

Sweetest

Little candy in death’s candy shop,
I gave your sugar a lick
When no one was looking,
Took you for a ride on my tongue
To all the secret places,

Trying to appear above suspicion
As I went about inspecting the confectionary,
Greeting the owner with a nod
With you safely tucked away
And melting to nothing in my mouth.

—Charles Simic, from My Noiseless Entourage (HarcourtBooks, 2005)


reblogged 2 years ago / reblog
Apr

♥ 998

via
source

How silently the heart pivots on its hinge.

~Jane Hirshfield, from “Not Moving Even One Step” (via the-final-sentence)  

  # Jane Hirshfield    # Not Moving Even One Step    # poetry    # lit  

reblogged 2 years ago / reblog
Apr

♥ 148

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source

celebratepoetry:

Knopf & Tumblr present a LIVE celebration of poetry! Mark your calendars!

celebratepoetry:

Knopf & Tumblr present a LIVE celebration of poetry! Mark your calendars!


  # poetry  

reblogged 2 years ago / reblog
Apr

♥ 356

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newyorker:

Postscript: Adrienne Rich, 1929-2012

The ringing, defiant poetry of Adrienne Rich, who died yesterday at eighty-two, articulated the frustrations of women who came of age along clipped paths in the nineteen-forties and fifties, only to discover in the sixties and seventies the extent of their longing to tear up the grass. Her voice resounds, three generations on. From her 1963 poem “Snapshots of a Daughter-in-Law,” a modernist collage in which careless references to women’s lives from Horace, Diderot, Eliot, and Shakespeare are recast in tight, furious stanzas about domestic confinement (“Dolce ridens, dulce loquens / she shaves her legs until they gleam / like petrified mammoth-tusk) to her expansive later poems that elaborate the love between two women, Rich continually stretched categories of feminine identity. She was an explorer, “diving into the wreck,” as the title of one of her most famous poems has it, to help us find what is naked and unencumbered in ourselves: “the wreck and not the story of the wreck / the thing itself and not the myth.”
We’ve gathered here seven of the twenty-eight poems by Rich published in this magazine between 1953 and 1958. In these early poems, we see the formal discipline and metric grace that Rich would maintain (and push against) throughout her long career. This is decorous verse becoming rude: the anger to which Rich would give such powerful voice bubbles beneath the taut surfaces of these fine poems.
“England and Always” (1953)
“The Marriage Portion” (1953)
“Holiday” (1953)
“Living in Sin” (1954)
“At the Jewish New Year” (1956)
“Moving Inland” (1957)
“The Survivors” (1957)

Photograph by Neal Boenzi/New York Times/Getty Images.

newyorker:

Postscript: Adrienne Rich, 1929-2012

The ringing, defiant poetry of Adrienne Rich, who died yesterday at eighty-two, articulated the frustrations of women who came of age along clipped paths in the nineteen-forties and fifties, only to discover in the sixties and seventies the extent of their longing to tear up the grass. Her voice resounds, three generations on. From her 1963 poem “Snapshots of a Daughter-in-Law,” a modernist collage in which careless references to women’s lives from Horace, Diderot, Eliot, and Shakespeare are recast in tight, furious stanzas about domestic confinement (“Dolce ridens, dulce loquens / she shaves her legs until they gleam / like petrified mammoth-tusk) to her expansive later poems that elaborate the love between two women, Rich continually stretched categories of feminine identity. She was an explorer, “diving into the wreck,” as the title of one of her most famous poems has it, to help us find what is naked and unencumbered in ourselves: “the wreck and not the story of the wreck / the thing itself and not the myth.”

We’ve gathered here seven of the twenty-eight poems by Rich published in this magazine between 1953 and 1958. In these early poems, we see the formal discipline and metric grace that Rich would maintain (and push against) throughout her long career. This is decorous verse becoming rude: the anger to which Rich would give such powerful voice bubbles beneath the taut surfaces of these fine poems.

England and Always” (1953)

The Marriage Portion” (1953)

Holiday” (1953)

Living in Sin” (1954)

At the Jewish New Year” (1956)

Moving Inland” (1957)

The Survivors” (1957)

Photograph by Neal Boenzi/New York Times/Getty Images.


  # adrienne rich    # vintage    # black and white    # history    # poetry    # poem    # lit    # verse  

reblogged 2 years ago / reblog
Apr

♥ 46

via

I push my big grey wet snout through the green,
Dreaming the flower I have never seen.

~Thom Gunn, from “Moly” (via proustitute)  

  # Thom Gunn    # poetry    # lit    # snouts    # movement    # dreams    # flowers  

reblogged 2 years ago / reblog
Mar

♥ 626

via

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.

~Mary Oliver, from “Wild Geese” (via proustitute)  

  # Mary Oliver    # poetry    # lit    # despair    # worlds