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Mary Ruefle, on poem endings, from Madness, Rack, and Honey: Collected Lectures

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Durga Chew-Bose on Kelly Reichardt’s Certain Women

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“I want the following word: splendor, splendor is fruit in all its succulence, fruit without sadness. I want vast distances. My savage intuition of myself.”

— Clarice Lispector, The Stream of Life (via thewriterscaravan)

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Durga Chew-Bose

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David Hockney, 'Domestic Scene, Notting Hill', oil on canvas, 1963

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“I love borders. August is the border between summer and autumn; it is the most beautiful month I know. Twilight is the border between day and night, and the shore is the border between sea and land. The border is longing; when both have fallen in love but still haven’t said anything. The border is to be on the way. It is the way that is the most important thing.”

— Tove Jansson, “Moominvalley in November”

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Lucia Dovičáková — Dreaming About Death on Pink Sofa (oil, canvas, 2022)

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It seems to her that she could sit here for seasons on end: watching the street leaf and unleaf itself.

– Colum McCann, from “Treaty,” Thirteen Ways of Looking: A Novella and Three Stories (Random House, 2016)

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“When I think of books read in childhood they come to my mind’s eye in violent foreshortening and framed by a precarious darkness, but at the same time they glow somehow with an almost supernatural intensity of life that no adult book could ever effect.”

– Anne Carson, from Decreation; “Decreation: How Women Like Sappho, Marguerite Porete and Simone Weil Tell God,”

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Jonathan Wells, “April Morning”

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San Juan, PR 2017

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William Stafford, “Just Thinking,” in Ask Me

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this is from a james schuyler poem to frank o’hara written after his death I want to CRY

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"God", Michael Bazzett

for Ada Limon

Look, it’s not that I believe in him. Nor he in me. We have moved beyond all that. I just like having someone there in the dark. Usually we sit in silence, waiting for passing headlights to glide across the ceiling and knock stray prayers loose from where they got stuck on their way out, so many years ago. It’s almost like finding old piñata candy, says God, picking one from the floorboards. He unwraps it, takes a quick taste. Winces. Nods like he’s just remembered something for the thousandth, thousandth time. What is it? I ask. It’s kind of like chewing tinfoil, he says. All that aching naked hope.

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The longer I live, the more deeply I learn that love — whether we call it friendship or family or romance — is the work of mirroring and magnifying each other’s light. Gentle work. Steadfast work. Life-saving work in those moments when life and shame and sorrow occlude our own light from our view, but there is still a clear-eyed loving person to beam it back. In our best moments, we are that person for another.

-James Baldwin

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Amina Cain, Indelicacy