I would never tie you down, not even with garlands of roses. I don't want anything from you that doesn't come from your own impulse, like water from the springs.
Dulce María Loynaz, tr. James O’Connor, Absolute Solitude: Selected Poems; “XLVI”
And when my time
has danced itself out,
a million spots of blood
will be spread along the path to my father's house.
Vladimir Mayakovsky, tr. Bob Perelman & Kathy Lewis, from "A Cloud in Trousers" in Russian Poetry: The Modern Period, ed. John Glad & Daniel Weissbort
andrumedus reblogged
Natalie Haynes, from 'Stone Blind'
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May Sarton, The House by the Sea
...my heart had become a phoenix of
swallowed myths. [...]
Joy Harjo, In Mad Love and War; “Hieroglyphic”
andrumedus reblogged
May Sarton, from “Contemplation of Poussin”, Letters from Maine
Come, sweet,
I am a house with many rooms.
There is no end.
Each room is a street to the next world.
Where live other cities beneath
incendiary skies. And you have made
a fire in every room.
Come.
Lie with me before the flame.
Joy Harjo, In Mad Love and War; “City of Fire”
andrumedus reblogged
Mohammed El-Kurd, from "Lice," Rifqa
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Joy Harjo, In Mad Love and War; “Grace”
[Text ID: a season of false midnights.]
And the winter sky is
as pale as bone
as people lean into
themselves all
lovely and alone.
[…]
And the snow falls
lightly upon shoulders and eyelashes,
as I would like to fall
into you.
Dieu Dinh, Tender Cracks; “Near the Park”
And I ask you
what bitter words are ruining your soft-skinned village,
because I want to make a poem that will cup
the inside of your throat
like the fire in the palm of a healing animal. [...]
Joy Harjo, In Mad Love and War; “Healing Animal”
andrumedus reblogged
“To survive is sometimes a leap into madness. The fingers of saints are still hot from miracles, but can they save themselves?”
— Joy Harjo, In Mad Love and War; “Bird”
you come home now
we would hold you closer than
the pain
you felt you deserved
Joy Harjo, In Mad Love and War; “Rainy Night”
andrumedus reblogged
“It's the same rain you loved, that drowned you.”
Who cares
if I'm made of bronze,
if my heart is lined with iron?
Vladimir Mayakovsky, tr. Bob Perelman & Kathy Lewis, from "A Cloud in Trousers " in Russian Poetry: The Modern Period, ed. John Glad & Daniel Weissbort
andrumedus reblogged
— James Baldwin, from If Beale Street Could Talk