Thursday, August 30, 2012

You are everything that has not yet been lost

(via end-of-may)

Scissors     embers       misnomers       Are you this
loneliness of hands      Do you burrow past kindness    
Are you no less than a cell dividing no more     than an arboretum    
Who has visited you    Who has kept your dark eyes in thrall    
Is there a clear sound     threading through      What you want               
What you say     What you do     Do you know what you are losing
when the dusk seals off the center of things    in the parks     
Hour of dismissal           Nobody stops to sit       as they did during day
I am listening     to the peace that gathers       in the husky throats of
mourning doves     the children     with no need of goods
They told us what our eyes feel     being outside is enough
The moon moves quickly     The years         could shut us out
There is an ache in the lungs     so deep        it can't be heard
A floating-inward     rush of air     Are you rosin     wax
Are you alizarin-crimson         the spiraling glitters of pelicans
over the cone marsh the threshold      at which change becomes
unstoppable     We are traveling     through the unmanifest dark
and have only our skin     to glide by     I will vouch for you
when you make a place for me     in the city of soft gray-bodied trees           
If I have a wish     it is to find you     where I find poetry
Do you ever     close your eyes in full sunlight     Here close your eyes          
You are everything      that has not yet been lost

Joanna Klink's "Aerial"

It is a wonderful gift.

"Words that come out of history are complicated; they are cluttered with etymology and connotation. And that slows us down when we try to understand them.... But words that make up their histories as they come into existence leap at us unchaperoned. First they are in our leader's mouth, then they are in ours. It is a wonderful gift. We can hum along with the words passing through us; we can clap, we can jump. And as we respond to the music we make, we will feel ourselves coming into being. We will be wrong, but we will believe that we know at last who we are."

Jonathan Morse, Word by Word: The Language of Memory (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press) 1990: 2.
image: Banksy

Wednesday, August 29, 2012


Stories are the only enchantment possible, for when we begin to see our suffering as a story, we are saved.
Significant Objects
Stories are the only enchantment possible, for when we begin to see our suffering as a story, we are saved.
Anaïs Nin
image (workman) 

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

“She believed in angels, and, because she believed, they existed” ― Clarice Lispector, The Hour of the Star”

Angels, Philadelphia, 1961 - George Krause  
Angels, Philadelphia, 1961 - George Krause
"I'm for mystery, not interpretive answers.
The answer is never the answer. What's really interesting is the mystery. If you seek the mystery instead of the answer, you'll always be seeking. I've never seen anybody really find the answer, but they think they have. So they stop thinking. But the job is to seek mystery, evoke mystery, plant a garden in which strange plants grow and mysteries bloom. The need for mystery is greater than the need for an answer."
- Ken Kesey
link TEXT:  acorda eu

Sunday, August 5, 2012

as far as memory

image/alexey titarenko
from; Time Standing Still," (1998-2000)
" are as far as invention, and I am as far as memory." 
From Yellow Stars and Ice 
Susan Stewart
 more Titarenko:

Thursday, August 2, 2012

my entrance

It was my entrance into the radiance of imagination.
Patti Smith, Just Kids (via starswithplanets)
image source: beingyourhero