#Diane Wakoski

[majestativa]

She […] wants to be in your wrist a pulse.

— DIANE WAKOSKI ⚜️ Emerald Ice, (1988)

[bittersweet-poem]

Diane Wakoski

[orchard-bliss]

Diane Wakoski, Toward A New Poetry

[typewriter-worries]

And Now She Has Disappeared in Water, Diane Wakoski 

[revmeg]

When I am alone I realize that you are for me Beethoven, Schubert, Haydn, and Bach, those sounds I cannot live without. You are the new snow covering our late-night street.

from "A Winter Poem for Tony Weinburger Written on the Occasion of Feeling Very Happy" in Emerald Ice: Selected Poems 1962-1987 by Diane Wakoski, p. 187

[chrisengel]

“The poems I write are about the fragments & unlit fences in my life. For the poet, the poem is not the measure of his [or her] love. It is the measure of all he’s [or she’s] lost, or never seen, or what has no life, unless he [or she] gives it life with words.” — Diane Wakoski

[dyketastics]

CHANT FOR A SHARP KNIFE, Diane Wakoski / Hot Knife, Fiona Apple

I am

I am

I am

I am

I am

I am

I am

I am

I am

I am

I am

I am

I am

a sharp knife.

Dont lay

yr tongue against me.

///

I’m a hot knife, I'm a hot knife

I'm a hot knife, he's a pat of butter

If I get a chance, I'm gonna show him that

He's never gonna need another, never need another

And you can

And you can

And you can relax around me

And you can

And you can

And you can relax around me

[matrixrry]

“body paint” - arctic monkeys / j'ai tué ma mère (2009, dir. xavier dolan) / “body gold” - oh wonder / a picture that had sapphic tumblr in a chokehold in 2015 / “blue monday” by diane wakoski

[violettesiren]

In Beatle light, in blond white-boy light, in fast-talking light, and lemon light, in rose light which glows softly or Rosenkavalier light which speeds like a train, in the light of hummingbird wings and the light of four gold coins in the light on Anna’s red ears and gorgette, in the light of the Red Cars travelling from Pasadena to Santa Monica, in the light of August, in pearly light or saguaro light, in the sparkling light of eau de vie and back to rose light or letter light or light that sips from your knightly lips, there is only increasing light from the hummingbird with the long tail, Red-tailed Comet light, Hummingbird House light, Knight of the Rose light, leaping off a cliff light, sleeping in hummingbird light.

For Craig Who Leapt Off a Cliff in to Hummingbird Light by Diane Wakoski

[oldfilmsflicker]

“Blue Monday” by Diane Wakoski

[courtesansjewelbox]

We have nothing cold in common / but we glitter at each other.

—from poem “Anticipation of Sharks” by Diane Wakoski from The Motorcycle Betrayal Poems

[majestativa]

You must reach inside and pull me like a silver bullet.

— DIANE WAKOSKI ⚜️ Emerald Ice, (1988)

[6peaches]

Diane Wakoski - 3 of Swords

Oh how can I tell you, she loves you, but wants to be alone, wants to be in your wrist, a pulse, but not in your house. See, she is outside the window now. You look at her. It does not mean you should try to bring her inside.

[orchard-bliss]

All poetry is allegory, fable, symbol, metaphor, image, dialogue.

Diane Wakoski, Toward A New Poetry

[manwalksintobar]

In This Galaxy // Diane Wakoski

I looked for a man who knew the temperatures of stars;    one who could draw rings around Saturn with a fine pen and would sleep with me as if a shower of meteors was a common occurrence around the bed each night. But love and science — they are both gambles; and if you try to win the sun’s light,                      you must be prepared also to lose every                    day.

[revmeg]

Unlike you, during the four undergraduate years, I did not win a Phi Beta Kappa key, write three novels and marry my sweetheart. I ran across Dwinelle Plaza barefooted in winter carrying a wicker birdcage, I wept in classes, puffed up like a mushroom, spoke laments which embarrassed everyone, and played, played, played, Beethoven and Chopin mostly, trying to substitute music for sex, for love, for security, and kindness. Unlike you, I was no combination, clicking shut like an expensive lock, of beauty and brains.... ...How I hated the rich girls in my classes who were being expensively psychoanalyzed (how I needed to tell my histories), and who played Bach sitting decorously, neatly, on the piano bench like little hair brushes, while I grimaced and swayed and rocked on the bench with each cadence....

from "Joyce Carol Oates Plays the Saturn Piano" in Emerald Ice: Selected Poems 1962-1987 by Diane Wakoski, p. 339-340