word in hand

the poetry of flight

September 12, 2014 at 9:38am
2,133 notes
Reblogged from poetrysociety

From a special edition of 15 copies of Frank O’Hara’s Meditations In An Emergency (1957), which included an original drawing/collage by Grace Hartigan.

via Yale Library

(Source: poetrysociety, via apoetreflects)

September 7, 2014 at 7:00pm
59 notes
Reblogged from memoryslandscape

This hour along the valley this light at the end
       of summer lengthening as it begins to go
this whisper in the tawny grass this feather floating
       in the air this house of half a life or so
this blue door open to the lingering sun this stillness
       echoing from the rooms like an unfinished sound
this fraying of voices at the edge of the village
       beyond the dusty gardens this breath of knowing
without knowing anything this old branch from which
       years and faces go on falling this presence already
far away this restless alien in the cherished place
       this motion with no measure this moment peopled
with absences with everything that I remember here
       eyes the wheeze of the gate greetings birdsongs in winter
the heart dividing dividing and everything
       that has slipped my mind as I consider the shadow
all this has occurred to somebody else who has gone
       as I am told and indeed it has happened again
and again and I go on trying to understand
       how that could ever be and all I know of them
is what they felt in the light here in this late summer

W. S. Merwin, “Season,” from The Vixen (Alfred A. Knopf, 1996)

(Source: memoryslandscape, via apoetreflects)

August 28, 2014 at 11:55pm
1,079 notes
Reblogged from nevver
 

 

August 20, 2014 at 9:29pm
276 notes
Reblogged from petrichour

I may never be happy, but tonight I am content. Nothing more than an empty house, the warm hazy weariness from a day spent setting strawberry runners in the sun, a glass of cool sweet milk, and a shallow dish of blueberries bathed in cream. When one is so tired at the end of a day one must sleep, and at the next dawn there are more strawberry runners to set, and so one goes on living, near the earth. At times like this I’d call myself a fool to ask for more…

— Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (via girlinlondon)

(Source: petrichour, via girlinlondon)

9:28pm
97,624 notes
Reblogged from razorshapes

(Source: razorshapes, via wrongingmyrights)

August 12, 2014 at 12:31pm
40,911 notes
Reblogged from gnossienne

August 4, 2014 at 4:09pm
1,220 notes
Reblogged from nevver
Under the Volcano, Wallace Stevens

Under the Volcano, Wallace Stevens

(via nevver)

July 21, 2014 at 4:10pm
1 note

from Adrienne Rich’s “Twenty-One Love Poems”

IX

Your silence today is a pond where drowned things live
I want to see raised dripping and brought into the sun.
It’s not my own face I see there, but other faces, 
even your face at another age.
Whatever’s lost there is needed by both of us - 
a watch of old gold, a water-blurred fever chart,
a key…Even the silt and pebbles of the bottom
deserve their glint of recognition. I fear this silence,
this inarticulate life. I’m waiting
for a wind that will gently open this sheeted water
for once and show me what I can do
for you, who have often made the unnameable
nameable for others, even for me. 

July 14, 2014 at 3:51pm
1,230 notes
Reblogged from likeafieldmouse
Egon Schiele - Young Trees with Support (1912)

Egon Schiele - Young Trees with Support (1912)

July 11, 2014 at 5:47pm
3,123 notes
Reblogged from lifeinpoetry

I can even say it,
though only once and it won’t

last: I want this.
I want this.

— Margaret Atwood, “There is only one of everything,” from Circe/Mud Poems (via kvtes)

(Source: lifeinpoetry, via kvtes)