Posted on May 6th (10:43am), 1 month agoSome poems from “B Is for Bad Poetry” by Pamela August Russell
these are amazing.
Posted on Dec 18th (6:40pm), 6 months agoSpencer Finch - 366, Emily Dickinson’s Miraculous Year (2009)
This work is based on Emily Dickinson in 1862, when she wrote 366 poems in 365 days. It is a real-time memorial to that year, which burns for exactly one year. The sculpture is comprised of 366 individual candles arranged in a linear sequence, each of which burns for 24 hours. The colour of each candle matches a colour mentioned in the corresponding poem. For the poems in which no colour is mentioned, the candles are made out of natural paraffin.
Posted on Nov 9th (11:14am), 7 months ago“A Woman Who Writes Feels To Much”: An 8tracks Mix of Women Poets Reading Their Work
Playlist:
Sylvia Plath - Lady Lazarus
Sylvia Plath - Daddy
Anne Sexton - The Truth the Dead Know
Anne Sexton - The Operation
Edna St. Vincent Millay - Recuerdo
Edna St. Vincent Millay - Childhood is the Kingdom Where Nobody Dies
Dorothy Parker - Resumé
Dorothy Parker - One Perfect Rose
Dorothy Parker - Afternoon
H.D. - excerpt from Helen in Egypt
Gwendolyn Brooks - A Song in the Front Yard
Gwendolyn Brooks - Kitchenette Building
Muriel Rukeyser - The Poem as Mask
Muriel Rukeyser - Waiting for Icarus
Denise Levertov — The Secret
Denise Levertov - Her Sadness
Elizabeth Bishop - The Fish
Elizabeth Bishop - excerpt from Crusoe in England
Louise Bogan - The Dream
Louise Bogan - Song for the Last Act
Gertrude Stein - Christian Berard
Gertrude Stein - She Bowed to Her Brother
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Posted on Oct 27th (10:37am), 7 months ago
I am terrified by this dark thing
That sleeps in me
That sleeps in me
— Sylvia Plath, from “Elm” (via awritersruminations)
❝
Posted on Oct 27th (10:29am), 7 months ago
It sometimes happens that my hands
grow conscious of each other, or else my weary face
takes refuge in them.
grow conscious of each other, or else my weary face
takes refuge in them.
— Rainer Maria Rilke, from Duino Elegies, trans. Edward A. Snow (via proustitute)
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Posted on Sep 12th (6:05pm), 9 months ago
I hear the wind blow,
And I feel that it was worth being born just to hear the wind blow.
And I feel that it was worth being born just to hear the wind blow.
— Fernando Pessoa (via nirvikalpa)
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Posted on Sep 3rd (8:37am), 9 months ago
And so being young and dipped in folly I fell in love with melancholy.
— Edgar Allen Poe (via iamadragonslayer)
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There’s another skin inside my skin
that gathers to your touch…
Just when the body thinks it knows
the ways of knowing itself,
this second skin continues to answer.
Posted on Jun 11th (12:27pm), 1 year ago
that gathers to your touch…
Just when the body thinks it knows
the ways of knowing itself,
this second skin continues to answer.
❝
Posted on Jun 4th (11:00am), 1 year ago
Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.
— W. S. Merwin, “Separation” (via proustitute)
