And now we step to the rhythm of miracles.–from The Light, That Never Dies

Your friends, and your associates, and the people around you, and the environment that you live in, and the speakers around you – the speakers around you – and the communicators around you, are the...

You exalt me Bati,This is the message to the society,Brightest day demands struggling, suffering and sacrifice,heroic labor would suffice.

Please let me know if I am not hereLet me know if I fail to find you thereFor before the dawn I leave the night behind meAnd before my heart I let you leave me...

Un día habré dormido con un sueño tan largo que ni tus besos puedan avivar el letargo. Un día estaré sola, como está la montaña entre el largo desierto y la mar que la baña.

I am two fools, I know,For loving, and for saying so.

When a woman’s face is wrinkledAnd her hairs are sprinkled, With gray, Lackaday!Aside she’s cast, No one respect will pay;Remember, Lasses, remember.And while the sun shines make hay:You must not expect in December, The flowers...

Thinking has a quiet skin. But I feel the and of things inside it. Blue hills most gentle in calm light, then stretches of assailAnd ransack. Such tangles of charred wreckage, shrapnel-bits Singling and singeing...

Winter’s last rain and a light I don’t recognize through the trees and I come back in my mind to the man who made me suck his cock when I was seven, in sunlight, between...

Love is a game of tic-tac-toe,constantly waitingfor the next x or o.

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, Seem here no painful inch to gain, Far back, through creeks and inlets making, Comes silent, flooding in, the main. And not by eastern windows only, When daylight...

Poetry is a presentiment of the truth.

MotherHushed and sacred silencefills the dawning skyI ponder in this momentof our journey which is nigh…

The life spills over, some days.She cannot be at rest,Wishes she could explodeLike that red tree—The one that bursts into fireAll this week.Senses her infinite smallnessBut can’t seize it,Recognizes the folly of desire,The folly of...

Hay menos tiempo que lugar, no obstante, hay lugares que duran un minuto y para cierto tiempo no ha lugar.

Neither pathway is correct.

The Poet With His Face In His HandsYou want to cry aloud for your mistakes. But to tell the truth the world doesn’t need anymore of that sound.So if you’re going to do it and...

As lines, so loves oblique may well Themselves in every angle greet; But ours so truly parallel, Though infinite, can never meet. Therefore the love which us doth bind, But Fate so enviously debars, Is...

You campaign in poetry. You govern in prose.

Shine and shimmer my Harvest Moon,illuminate the shadows in the sky.

Boast of QuietnessWritings of light assault the darkness, more prodigious than meteors.The tall unknowable city takes over the countryside.Sure of my life and death, I observe the ambitious and would like tounderstand them.Their day is...

I learned a world from each / one whom I loved

An Anna BlumeOh Du, Geliebte meiner 27 Sinne, ich liebe Dir!Du, Deiner; Dich Dir, ich Dir, Du mir, – – – – wir?Das gehört beiläufig nicht hierher!Wer bist Du , ungezähltes Frauenzimmer, Du bist, bist...

Tell me, enigmatical man, whom do you love best, your father,Your mother, your sister, or your brother?I have neither father, nor mother, nor sister, nor brother.Your friends?Now you use a word whose meaning I have...

This was what the poets couldn’t put in their poetry, she thought dumbly, the rush of desire so fierce and pure it made one shake, all on the force of a word.

DESPITE THE INVENTION OF TIME MACHINES, WE KEEP BEING LINEAR.

By giving words the latitude she does, (Marianne) Van Hirtum emphasizes their contagious qualities: they become almost like viruses, with which it is necessary to put oneself in harmony by sympathetic magic if one is...

I am stuffing your mouth with yourpromises and watching you vomit them out upon my face.

Purity is defined by the clearness of the stars

If I bet on humanity, I’d never cash a ticket.

Music is poetry in motion.

it is so dark now with the sadness ofpeoplethey were tricked, they were taught to expect theultimate when nothing ispromisednow young girls weep alone in small roomsold men angrily swing their canes atvisions asladies comb...

I see what I want of Love… I see horses making the meadow dance, fifty guitars sighing, and a swarm of bees suckling the wild berries, and I close my eyes until I see our...

the impossibility of being humanall too humanthis breathingin and outout and inthese punksthese cowardsthese championsthese mad dogs of glorymoving this little bit of light towardusimpossibly.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.

. . .criticism is to poetry as air is to a noise: it allows it to be heard; and even if we can’t see it or feel it, it is there, shaping how we hear.

but in the cityin which I love you,no one comes, no onemeets me in the brick clefts;in the wedged dark,no finger touches me secretly, no mouthtastes my flawless salt,no one wakens the honey in the...

A language is a map of our failures

What did you think, that joy / was some slight thing?

A little learning is a dangerous thing.Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian Spring;There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,and drinking largely sobers us again.

The River Mogami has drownedFar and deepBeneath its surging wavesThe flaming sun of summer

I speak of new cities and new peopleI tell you the past is a bucket of ashes.I tell you yesterday is a wind gone down,a sun dropped in the west.I tell you there is nothing...

Poetry, plays, novels, music, they are the cry of the human spirit trying to understand itself and make sense of our world.

Poetry seems especially like nothing else so much as itself. Poetry is not like, it is the very lining of the inner life.

No wires tender even as nervescan transmit the impact ofour seasons, our catastropheswhile we are closed inside them

Poems are lenses, mirrors, and X-ray machines.

I find my data first in myself, not first in the poets. For if I did not find it in myself, I would not be able to find it in the poets.

He knows he will be born again, And start fresh anew.

The poem is the point at which our strength gave out.

Omnipotence and omniscience are the end of power and knowledge.