#how to love the world: poems of gratitude and hope

[a-lil-strawberry]

[grapeszn]

Molly Fisk, from How To Love the World: Poems of Gratitude and Hope (2021) ed. James Crews, "Against Panic"

[Text ID: You recall those times, I know you do, when the sun / lifted its weight over a small rise to warm your face, / when a parched day finally broke open, real rain / sluicing down the sidewalk, rattling city maples / and you so sure the end was here, life a house of cards / tipped over, falling, hope's last breath extinguished / in a bitter wind. Oh friend, search your memory again — / beauty and relief are still there, only sleeping.]

(via grieftolight on IG)

[godzilla-reads]

I’m so happy to have found this at a used bookstore, as I feel like I need to focus more on gratitude and hope lately.

Over the last few months my life has been in turmoil with some slow and some fast changes that are throwing me up in the air. Sometimes I forget to take a moment to breathe. Sometimes I forget the power of gratitude.

Hopefully this book of poems will remind me how to do this.

🌺 How to Love the World: Poems of Gratitude and Hope edited by James Crews

[fairlyabookie]

Poetry in Mind

Author's note: This is totally not a rot piece-

Content: somewhat character analysis on his perception of love, ig-

Writing poetry for his beloved was a testament to his love for them; sure, he can think of all the poetry he can think of to best describe you. The sheer detail of you, from your banter with him to your laughter that shuddered his heart. Everything had to be written down, lest he’d forget what he thought of you. The essence of poetry entailed illustrating a picture of you - an abstract depiction that he can only make by the ink of his pen. 

He closes his eyes, picturing your silhouette in a background of clear, blue skies, your hair blowing in the wind, as a smile dances upon your lips. He hears your laughter, a burst of happiness that brings joy to his heart, seeks your voice, a sought out melody. Finally, he opens his eyes, staring upon a blank slate of parchment. 

How irksome was his dilemma, to write a poem about you, when his thoughts latched to the hope that you’d one day look his way. Truly, he saw you as a dear friend, and you the same way. Yet, his heart yearned for more. 

Sebek writes, this time, from the depths of his heart, writing as if no one was around, bearing his feelings onto the parchment - paper his battlegrounds while ink and pen were his weapons in the face of his feelings, a formidable adversary. If only writing were easy, he thinks to himself, pausing at a line. The stories he read as a child were pages long, unfolding words into worlds that bound him to the book, captivating him with mystery and romance. 

How did Lilia court someone? He lets a stray thought pass him by. Picturing a youthful General slipping a sealed envelope of written whispers towards his other was an outlandish thought, but one Sebek wanted to preserve. Was this truly a way of courtship between loved ones? Was poetry a way of expressing one’s love to another, if not conveying their thoughts about the day’s passing? 

Sebek lets his yearning turn into trepidation - was he really making the right choice of writing this profound poem? He could be more open and approach you more directly about your feelings, yet, actions tell more beyond just words. Quality time, acts of service, little things that Sebek had considered to be his love language when he interacted with you, moments he didn’t think much of because he was capable of doing so and wanted to foster his dynamic with you. 

He recalls the sincerity in your gratitude, a sweet smile lingering on your lips when the young man takes his time to assist you, hearing your words, enjoying your presence. His heart ached once more, the thought of your heart belonging to another unbearable to fathom. Right now, he’d take his chances - putting this into poetry for only you to read, a manifestation of his feelings in written form.

With this in mind, he grasps his words, his pen manifesting words onto parchment. He thinks of nothing, only hope that his feelings had come across to you in this form of language. A pang of bittersweetness pangs his heart as he writes the final line, fragments of his heart plastered all over this written piece. He looks over his work, all with a small smile etched on his lips. To some, a way of cutting the strings of one’s overtly attached heart; for him, this poem symbolized his heart’s totality, his affections manifested in the form of paper.

By morning, a sealed message makes its way to Ramshackle’s entrance, your name written in familiar handwriting. A note attached to such letter reads: 

“Only for [Reader]’s eyes. Please take the time to read this poem. I’d appreciate it if you can give me a piece of mind by tomorrow.

Yours Truly,  S.Z.”

[akutasoda]

i look for your smile

synopsis - things they do to see you smile

includes - venti, zhongli, kazuha, ei, tighnari, columbina

warnings - gn!reader, fluff, small hints of angst i think, maybe ooc, wc - 624

venti ★↷

venti, the tone-deaf bard as he was more famously known. but somehow like magic itself didn't always seem that tone-deaf with his songs. especially when he wrote songs for or about you. normally they were for your ears only but you couldn't help but wonder how these songs sounded much better than his others. but nonetheless whenever your lover came to you with a new song for you, you couldn't help but a crack a smile and that was all the bard wanted and more.

zhongli ★↷

zhongli has experienced alot in his life, and now as zhongli not morax he just wants to live out the rest of his life in peace, alongside you. you were by far his greatest treasure and he loved the small domestic life you two had built for yourself. and ever so often zhongli would love to take you glaze lily picking. he knew the times where they were at their best in their cycle so he would take you to the fields and pick some lillies to remake the beautiful bouquet left central in your shared home as you two share smiles and laughs for years to come.

kaedehara kazuha ★↷

kazuha often wondered if you got bored of this life with him. i mean the life he had made for himself, with beidou's help, wasn't for everyone. but you always assured him with a syrupy sweet smile that you loved this and wouldn't trade it for the world. but often you would find small hand written poems from your lover that you would always thank him for later with yet another bright smile that always made him feel like the luckiest guy in the world. or even sometimes during longer stops at docks, kazuha would take you sightseeing to spots he often would visit.

raiden shogun ★↷

ei sometimes struggled with understanding how humans would go about relationships. but you were an exception and tried your best to help guide her through the steps until she could understand herself on her own, and boy was she trying. but one of the things that became a routine was you plaiting her hair. she didn't understand your insistent asks on you asking her to teach you how she likes it plaited so you could do it for her. but eventually she taught you, you always looked so happy when you asked she didn't want you to lose that smile, and now it became a routine. and she loved seeing your soft smile as you plaited her hair.

tighnari ★↷

small note : pink roses mean gratitude, blue hydrangeas mean thanks and white camellias mean adoration

tighnari, as the forest watcher and a botanist, he knew about all kinds of flowers and various botanical specimens. and he figured one way to show his appreciation of you and everything you've done he decided to give you a bouquet of pink roses, blue hydrangea's and white camellias. not only was it a gift to show his feelings but he hoped it would make you smile. and it did. taking the bouquet with a bright smile you graciously hugged your lover and if you ask about if his tail was subtly wagging your wrong(your not).

columbina ★↷

columbina doesn't normally leave snezhnaya, but since you expressed how much you love her small little singing performances for you she kind of felt like maybe she should try to get you two to performances outside of snezhnaya. although that may be a bit difficult considering her status as a harbringer but you found out about her effort in her plans you couldn't help but smile and told her that you wouldn't mind just hearing her singing. she was happy you felt that way and made a small subtle effort to starrt singing for you more until she could arrange your trip out of snezhnaya.

[senjuushi]

Valentine’s Day 2024 Lines — Antiques

Enfield

Friend Chocolate: Thank you very much! The truth is, I’ve been writing a poem to show my thanks... I’ll be ready to unveil it by next year, I believe. Yes, indeed! 

Dear Chocolate: ���The shining beams of daybreak’s sun // The flowers blooming full // Let’s pick one for our love, you and I, // and from dawn to dusk, give thanks for this fleeting life.”

Snider

Friend Chocolate: ...I don’t want that. I won’t accept anything from you unless it’s special. 

Dear Chocolate: You know I don’t eat sweet things, don’t you? Tch... fine, then. You can eat it. And I’ll watch you finish every bite.

George

Friend Chocolate: Wow! This chocolate is so cute!☆ I can tell you put a lot of joy into making it. Thank you~♥

Dear Chocolate: Whoah... this is too good to eat. Oh, I know! Let’s take a picture of the two of us next to the chocolate! It can last forever that way!☆

Kentucky

Friend Chocolate: Oh, this friend chocolate’s super cute! Thanks! Ha, haha... huh, no, I’m not crying! Just tearin’ up a bit from joy! 

Dear Chocolate: Th-This, this i-is... Master, from today on, I’ll be goin’ around actin’ like I’m your favorite, y’know. Is that okay? 

Pennsylvania

Friend Chocolate: Oh... what a coincidence. I was just thinking I wanted somethin’ sweet to eat. Thank you kindly for the gift. 

Dear Chocolate: That looks delicious... thank you. To show my gratitude... hm, a hug wouldn’t be enough. If something sounds good, could’ya tell me...?

Charleville

Friend Chocolate: Wow, what a cute chocolate lollipop! Merci, Master.♥ And here, chocolate-covered dried fruits, from me.♪

Dear Chocolate: Wow, amazing! ...mm! This is the tastiest dessert I’ve ever eaten! Will you make it next year too? And the year after that? 

Chassepot

Friend Chocolate: F-Friend chocolate... I see I haven’t done enough to convey my feelings to you... Well, thank you. What a lovely gift... 

Dear Chocolate: Master... I was hoping for this. Getting something so special from you...! Ahh, the whole world seems brighter now! 

Tabatiere

Friend Chocolate: Haha, what lovely chocolate. I’m usually the one thanking you anyway, but... thank you, really. I’m sure it’ll be delicious. 

Dear Chocolate: I get Master-chan’s homemade chocolate all to myself? Haha... you sure this isn’t some kind of mistake? This much happiness might kill me, you know... 

Dreyse

Friend Chocolate: Thank you. However... this sort of snack seems rather childish. Wouldn’t I look strange eating it...? 

Dear Chocolate: What a wonderful gift...! I hardly know how to express my joy... perhaps a lap around the school with you on my shoulders! 

Jitte

Friend Chocolate: Oh, thanks for the lovely gift. Mhmm, a bit of chocolate right now sounds awfully sweet!

Dear Chocolate: Even with so many options... you’re really choosing me? Oh, dear... this is supposed to be romantic, but I’m starting to tear up. 

Karl

Friend Chocolate: Oh, chocolate. Thank you. If Margarita were here, this would certainly be a merry day... 

Dear Chocolate: Ah— thank goodness. I’d forbidden myself chocolate for the last month in hopes of a gift from you. What a blessing this is... I’ll enjoy it! 

Lorenz

Friend Chocolate: My thanks, Test Subject #2. You didn’t forget to prepare some for Karl-sama as well, correct? Make sure his is the best of the bunch.

Dear Chocolate: I had predicted this occurence, and yet... now that it’s happening, why is my heart in such a frenzy!? Do you know the answer, Test Subject #2...!?

Cutlery

Friend Chocolate: You’re giving me friend chocolate? Thanks. Some chocolate from Charlotte came in too. I’m happy to get so much...! 

Dear Chocolate: Huh... this is for me!? You’re kidding... I can’t believe it. Getting something like this, I’m amazed... *sob*...!

[julesofnature]

You recall those times, I know you do, when the sun lifted its weight over a small rise to warm your face, when a parched day finally broke open, real rain sluicing down the sidewalk, rattling city maples and you so sure the end was here, life a house of cards tipped over, falling, hope's last breath extinguished in a bitter wind. Oh, friend, search your memory again--  beauty and relief are still there, only sleeping. ‘AGAINST PANIC’, by Molly Fisk From How to Love the World: Poems Of Gratitude And Hope 

[hyog-blog]

Nothing Else I'd Rather Choose (fic)

The Story of Pearl Girl | Duanwu character study

Duan Wu and Zhang Jinran | Duan Wu and Yan Zijing

Duan Wu stares into the doe-like eyes of Zhang Jinran, feeling something unusual coming up to the surface from the depths of her heart. She didn't know it could even feel things like that. A mixture of gratitude, gentleness, and clarity, seeing the other for what he truly was - a gentleman with a noble heart, traditional upbringing, and a wish to lend her a helping hand. Probably, along with his bright sparkly eyes and a chivalrous heart.

He was everything a girl could dream of, taking care of her with utmost attention, not being entirely open about his affection, but she could feel it nonetheless. She has learned to read people while growing up, especially the men who surrounded her, looking at women as if they were prey or a prize to fight over and win for themselves. No one ever asked the women what they wanted in the place she grew up. Even within that dark nook of the world she was living, there were rules of its own and the strong always ruled over the weak, even if they themselves were ruled by even stronger predators and slave-keepers.

She had finally turned that page of her life over, but her agile mind and perceptive heart were still with her, more sensitive than ever before. The man sitting in front of her was nothing like the ones she grew up around - he was the very opposite of everyone she knew back at the pearl farm. So far from the world she lived in that he almost seemed like a mythical being. Much like she was a little mermaid for him back when they first met, he was a celestial creature for her - untainted with the darkness of the real world, the one that would grab you while you're young, enslave you, rape you, and make you bear their children just for profit.

In a way, she got lucky. She fought for her body as fiercely as she did for her heart and soul, but the damage was already there. She knew it when she looked into his eyes with all the light and nobility sparkling there like rays of sunshine - he would never be able to understand her. He could love her, long for her, and take care of her the best way he could, but he'd never give her the freedom she craved so much. It simply didn't exist in the world he was living in. But she, herself, could make it come true. Carve out a path for herself using whatever strength and wit she could master. Learn everything there was to learn about trade, follow Yan Zijing to the end of the world to see how it's being done, and explore the world she didn't yet get the chance to see.

Will it be as ugly as the pearl farm she grew up on? Or will it be as magical and soft as the poems written by Zhang Jinran? Will it cradle her in her arms like the waves of the ocean she both loved and hated so much? Or will it crush her, piercing like a sword that she was only learning how to use? She really didn't know, but she would do everything in her power to find out.

Duan Wu smiles at him with the softness of a person, who has seen light after living in the darkness for most of her life. It was the light emanating from her own heart, and one would be foolish to tie it to another person and hope that they would help this light burn brighter. He wouldn't be able to carry this burden - it was hers and hers only. Both her life and her future, and her death were in her own hands. As well as the secret of her origin and, maybe, who knows, some relatives that could still be alive somewhere out there.

She will find out only if she ventures out into the wilderness of the world that raised her in the darkness. But now the sun was shining brightly and it wasn't the sunlight sparkling in Zhang Jinran's eyes - her sun was burning brightly in the sky, bigger than anything, than the whole world, and she would follow it just like she would follow her heart and soul, wherever they'd take her.

"I can't accept this, sorry," she returns the envelope that could help her start a new life, and leave everything behind, but that everything was who she truly was. He didn't get that, but she did. And she knew she wanted to build on top of that, becoming so much more than a little scared mermaid who has finally reached the surface of the ocean and seen the broad sky, spread limitless above her head.

The light in Zhang Jinran's eyes dwindles just a bit but doesn't fully disappear. He might not be the type that lets go of the things he likes easily, especially the things that don't want to be owned and taken care of. The wild things, the mysterious things, the bitter and broken things he thought needed mending.

When she returns back to the ship, accompanied by Zhang Jinran, she spends a long moment staring at the tall figure of Yan Zijing, who came up either to greet or to scold her, or just to make sure that his asset was still in one piece. It was a weird mixture of sorrow, strength, and edginess emanating from the man as if he were a sword ready to strike at any minute. Relaxing was really not Yan Zijing's forte and the only thing that brought him peace of mind seemed to be music, that erhu that he played sometimes. The sound was beautiful, but she always felt like his soul was weeping at the time.

This man reminded her of the Ocean's depths that birthed her, nurtured her, tortured her mind, body, and soul, and then suddenly let her go to the surface to breathe in fresh air and enjoy the sun of the day. Could she really let go of her origin, though? He reminded her of harsh ocean winds and waters so cold that you could barely move in them, feeling the freezing current hug your body, slowing down your movements. One wrong decision, and you'd stay there forever, becoming a part of the deep-blue depths, just another piece of the still underwater landscape.

And yet, it was that very Ocean that held so many pearls in its bottomless pits. And the treasures Yan Zijing was hiding were but merely a glint in his dark eyes. A slight curve of his lips, a vicious stare, or a sudden gentleness that softened his features, emphasizing the raw beauty, like the light of a sunset would make the ocean seem so calm and welcoming, soft even.

Him, she could relate to. His eyes were mirroring her own. His philosophy was that of a person who has survived and prospered in a world that killed anyone who would so much as show a hint of weakness. Just like the Ocean, Yan Zijing would one moment torment her with a storm and the next gently support her with his strong waves and undercurrents. His presence, for some reason, felt like home - that dark place that birthed her, but also the one that let her feel what freedom truly felt like. She was, indeed, a mermaid. She could never let go of the underwater world with all its inhabitants, both the weak and the vicious, the soft and the strong.

And just like a pearl diver that she's been all her life, the pearls hiding in the depths of Yan Zijing's heart seemed too attractive, although unseen if you just look at the surface. It was similar to a feeling that she always got when going deep underwater, intuitively knowing where to look for those shells containing precious shiny droplets of light.

The moment passes and his eyes dart toward Zhang Jinran, a spark of hostility turning his face into that of a general ready to command his army to attack the opposing forces. The other man looked at him with a mix of disdain and fascination on his face. They couldn't be more different, and yet, fate, or destiny, or someone's brilliant plotting entangled them together, making one follow the other. But as it goes, sunlight would never pierce the darkness of the ocean waters, at least, not to the full extent. You'd have to be a mermaid to go that deep, look that far, and find whatever monsters, gems, or pearls hidden where no man could ever go.

Maybe for the first time in her life, she was happy to be a mermaid. For the Ocean was truly her home. When she steps onto the ship's floor, she feels a door getting shut behind her - the life she could have had, but that just wasn't meant for her. Whatever was waiting ahead of her, she had no regrets. None at all.

[asecretvice]

Hey. I just really want to thank you for “And This, Your Living Kiss”. I’m guessing you may be a bit tired hearing us talk about it, what, 4, 5 years after you published it? I just need to express some gratitude. Your poem “Perfect” was probably the first poem ever to make cry, and I still read it occasionally when I’m down. It’s honestly probably my favorite poem ever. For me it captures this delicate, still very anchored kind of happiness that just hits so deep. Kind of like the opposite of melancholia. I hope you get what I’m saying and that I’m not just talking out of my ass, and if I am, I was hoping you’d share some of your thoughts about this poem?

Also, this story is truly my favorite story ever. Has been for a very long time. A question I have for you is, is there any place where we can read more of your poetry? And if not, I was also wondering if you’d be willing to share with us some of your favorite poets/poems?

Firstly, thank you for your patience; sometimes it takes me a while to get to asks.

But mostly, thank you so much for these kind words. Do not ever doubt yourself when taking the time to extend your positivity to others; I—and I daresay the vast majority of people—do not get tired of receiving these small kindnesses. It’s a reminder that life can be full of connection, a reminder that when I send a little bit of my heart out into our raging, grief-filled world, there are those who accept and understand and, hopefully, keep passing that love forward. And thusly we make the world a better place. So please receive my gratitude for reaching out.

That you love “Perfection” means so much to me. It was the first piece of the fic I wrote, you know, and pretty much became the basis for who Dean is in the fic thereafter. I don’t feel you’re talking out of your ass at all. Dean is such a complex character, and I think that’s why so many of us relate to him; we see our own complexity and contradictions reflected back at us through him. There is of course happiness there among the rest—a boy/man who is at his happiest when with his family (blood or no). Underneath it all is that deep thread of love we (and Cas!) admire and strive toward within ourselves.

Unfortunately I don’t have poetry published anywhere else. Maybe someday.

Several of my fav poets/poems appear in the fic already, though they’re among many others. However because I’ve been thinking about her lately, I hope you’ll indulge me if I talk about Elizabeth Barrett Browning and her masterpiece Sonnets from the Portuguese.

In the modern day EBB’s words most often show up in the guise of “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.” It sounds a bit hokey, doesn’t it? I know I always thought so; especially to my teenage ear it was sickly sweet if not downright simpering. Spoiler: I was wrong. Context changes everything.

Do you believe that some books or stories come into your life at just the right time? Fast forward to when I’m 18 or 19. I’m in a town I’ve never been to before, visiting people I barely know. My host needs to work and offers to drop me off in the town center to explore. I agree because the weather’s fair and I’m desperate for a break from polite company, as it were. Happily it’s a pleasant area, full of green and not far from a large canal. After wandering along its edge for a while I aim back toward the local stores and window-shop up and down the streets. At last I stumble upon a used bookstore right next to a gelateria! Well you couldn’t have put two things together that more matched my taste if you tried. Naturally, I resolve to find a book and then go next door for some gelato and spend my time enjoying them both.

The bookstore is in an older building, for sure, with hardwood floors and the type of wainscoting that make me think it’s from the early 20th century at least. It’s split into multiple rooms and connected by open doorways; I wonder if it used to be a home. Many, though not all of the bookshelves are built into the walls and painted a pleasant white, stuffed to the gills with books in every color. The only other soul in the building is the man behind the front counter, and aside from a swift exchange of polite smiles I am left alone. I start by going to the left and poking around the shop and its little book-filled rooms counterclockwise, determined to choose at least one thing before I leave. What type, what genre? What length, what mood? I don’t know, but am sure I’ll know it when I see it. I’m free to choose whatever I like, you understand, because rarely had an English teacher in my past convinced me I couldn’t teach myself better, and I’d resolved never to take a class in the English department in college if I could help it (and for better or worse, I never did).

I take my time twisting in and out of the treasure-filled corners, no rush and no fuss. Yet no book sings to me. At length I near the back of the shop; on the far side beneath a window is a short, two-shelf bookcase. With waning hope I crouch in front of the shelf and begin reading spines. Aha! It’s filled with poetry. Perhaps there is some hope after all…then there it is: Sonnets from the Portuguese. Definitely faux-fancy binding, but still pretty. It looks like this:

I flip through, and every sonnet is accompanied by a different piece of silhouette art. It’s lovely, and it sings to me. A small pencil mark on the inside indicates it only costs a couple bucks, so I rummage in my wallet, stop by the front desk, and leave the store with the book clutched in my hands. With the rest of my cash I go to the gelateria next door and pick a couple of unusual flavors and again, alone, I choose a rickety metal table outside and sit with nothing but birds and sunshine for company. I skip the introduction and open the book immediately to the first sonnet:

I thought once how Theocritus had sung Of the sweet years, the dear and wished for years, Who each one in a gracious hand appears To bear a gift for mortals, old or young: And, as I mused it in his antique tongue, I saw, in gradual vision through my tears, The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years, Those of my own life, who by turns had flung A shadow across me.  Straightway I was ’ware, So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair, And a voice said in mastery while I strove, . . 'Guess now who holds thee?'—'Death,' I said, But, there, The silver answer rang . . 'Not Death, but Love.'

What do you glean from the poem? It is slow and sad, a bright mythologized ideal set against a woman sunk deep in dark grief, a darkness that swiftly shifts into horror as a Shape appears behind her, physically pulls her from her weeping, and demands a response. She is so sure that her own death has at last come upon her, except what’s appeared…is love? Love, of all things? Love?

This is not at all what I am expecting to read. I fill up with another spoonful of gelato and eagerly turn the page.

And turn, and turn—Reader, I’m hooked. I’m strapped into a rollercoaster and freefalling down the first slope, on a wild ride built by a woman who’s been chronically ill since childhood, who’s lived through the death of her mother and beloved brother, whose father keeps her in his house and firmly under his thumb even long into her thirties, who still manages to write and get published and yet still lives lonely in her dark room…Sonnets from the Portuguese is an epic journey via the most astonishing set of 44 sonnets about how love completely changed her life, sonnets which her husband later touted to be the best in English since Shakespeare (and I agree). If you haven’t read the sonnets I encourage you to do so before reading on, link here, but if you’d rather I walk you through…

Even reading them again now I am in awe. How baldly and boldly she talks about how she and Robert, because of course it’s about her famous courtship with Robert Browning, are not meant to be. Not just her circumstances at home, not just her poor health, not just the fact that she thinks herself so below him and his worth, but also her grief. The darkness that lives in her! So many lines from these poems are woven into the tapestry of my life, like from sonnet V: Behold and see / What a great heap of grief lay hid in me. She warns that it could ruin him. Stand further off then! go! it ends.

And yet the next one (VI) begins: Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand / Henceforward in thy shadow. It is too late. She’s already been changed. The world and her perception of it are already shifting. Read how the beginning of VII illustrates this:

The face of all the world is changed, I think, Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul Move still, oh, still, beside me, as they stole Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink Of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink, Was caught up into love, and taught the whole Of life in a new rhythm.  The cup of dole God gave for baptism, I am fain to drink, And praise its sweetness, Sweet, with thee anear.

She was sinking into oblivion, death her companion, until he stood between them and she was caught up into love, no longer to go through her days sitting simple and still in her room, content to wallow in the sorrow she’d been given. Yet…that still doesn’t matter, because how can she reciprocate? And, crucially, does it make her a bad person that she can’t?

am I cold, Ungrateful, that for these most manifold High gifts, I render nothing back at all? Not so; not cold,—but very poor instead. (VIII)

Have you ever been there? Found yourself wondering if you’re even capable of love and kindness toward others given all you’ve been through, and how horrible it feels to think that ability’s been stolen from you? Is what little you can eke out even worth anything in comparison? Beloved, I only love thee! let it pass. (IX)

But she continues turning the idea of love over in her mind. Could it be that love is fully worthy, no matter where it comes from? There’s nothing low / In love, she reasons, when love the lowest (X). Still it does not seem that she herself could be worthy—and if this is worthy love, anyway, would she have even known how to do it if she’d not first been shown by him?

And thus, I cannot speak Of love even, as a good thing of my own: Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak, And placed it by thee on a golden throne,— And that I love (O soul, we must be meek!) Is by thee only, whom I love alone. (XII)

It seems that Robert persists in his own love, because then an earnest plea: that he love her for love’s sake, because people change in time. She herself is changing now because of him! Do not even love her because he loves taking care of and comforting her, because his love could lessen her need for that comfort! (XIV)

Regardless she is not without feeling, as sad and calm as she outwardly seems. She’s just not like him. But…could his love and his will be strong enough to overcome all these obstacles? Why, conquering / May prove as lordly and complete a thing / In lifting upward, as in crushing low! With such success, she says, I at last record, / Here ends my strife. (XVI)

But of course, nothing can be quite so simple. Her first question is how she can be useful to him. This does not feel like a full partnership:

How, Dearest, wilt thou have me for most use? A hope, to sing by gladly? or a fine Sad memory, with thy songs to interfuse? A shade, in which to sing—of palm or pine? A grave, on which to rest from singing?  Choose. (XVII)

That theme of death, too, is still ever-present. Even as the next couple of sonnets talk about how they’ve exchanged locks of hair she speaks of it. In XX a sea-change is further revealed, however, when she compares her life before Robert to the one after knowing him, how link by link, [I] Went counting all my chains but now, in contrast to VII’s cup of dole, she drinks from life’s great cup of wonder! She begs him to keep saying that he loves her (XXI), continuing the theme that his love will teach her, lift her, allay her many fears. But the next again ends with the death-hour rounding it.

Robert’s response? That her death would harm him. She admits to marveling at this revelation. If it is to be believed,

Then my soul, instead Of dreams of death, resumes life’s lower range. Then, love me, Love! look on me—breathe on me! As brighter ladies do not count it strange, For love, to give up acres and degree, I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange My near sweet view of heaven, for earth with thee! (XXIII)

So first we learn that it is Love, not Death that has grabbed her; then we know that she feels Robert’s soul has slipped between her and the brink of death and thus she begins to question her constant sorrow; she is changing by his love; she will stop worrying about her worthiness and be of use to him and bask in what love he is willing to give her; but only now, finally, does she give up death itself in order to live her life. She is choosing to live!

The next few sonnets double down on this, about how all her hope had become despair, about how for so long she only had visions for company, and didn’t know they were mere shades in comparison to a reality of actually living, how Love, as strong as Death, retrieves as well. Also important? His saving kiss (XXVII).

We’ve come far, but progress isn’t an even trajectory. The rollercoaster dips again: now that she wishes to live, she wishes to live in his presence. She is both touch-starved and starved for company. Because their letters—one of, if not the most famous set of love letters in the English language—are to her all dead paper, mute and white! She speaks of how they fixed a day in spring / To come and touch my hand…a simple thing, / Yet I wept for it! (XXVIII) So we got the first mention in the last sonnet of his kissing her, and now a memory of when he first touched her hand. She goes on to write about how thinking of him is no longer enough; she needs to be near him. She then wonders, when he is gone, if she has embellished his feelings for her. Can you blame her? I certainly can’t. Her dark thoughts are now manifesting in these doubts about her perception, rather than her abilities.

But upon his next visit, she admits, I erred / In that last doubt! (XXXI). His presences reassures that all is real, not dream. And while she has always found it unlikely that their bond could have formed so fast (Quick-loving hearts, I thought, may quickly loathe, XXXII), now that she knows him she knows it was wrong to think that of him. She then brings up her childhood and draws parallels between the bright happy love she felt then with the love she feels now…even though, given the life she’s lived, the love she feels really can’t be the same. Her thoughts are no longer that of a child’s, which can be lightly turned aside, but for him she can and will turn from her dark, lonely thoughts when called.

This all decided, that their love is deep and true and as real as the loves she used to feel, and that she wants to be with him, an important question remains: If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange / And be all to me? Simply reading the poems and knowing their time period (Victorian) it could be enough to assume that it’s a regular leaving of your childhood home to create your own. But remember what I said at the beginning? The control her father exerts over her? She knows he would never approve. Hell, it was difficult enough for her siblings to make lives for themselves within his shadow. Going with Robert would mean truly leaving everything. She knows it won’t be easy: For grief indeed is love and grief beside (XXXV).

This great fear invites more doubt. She admits she has grown stronger and more confident, but that doesn’t make her troubles disappear. She knows she does their love a disservice in so doubting and in so fearing, but she can’t help it. But then…she returns to the physical, to his presence. In XXXVIII she speaks of their first three kisses: the first on her hand, the second for her forehead, but half-landed on her hair, and the third upon my lips was folded down / In perfect, purple state; since when, indeed / I have been proud and said, “My love, my own.”

She goes on in the next sonnets to say how grateful she is that he truly sees her and knows her beyond all the layers of sorrow and sickness she labors under. It should also be noted that, uncommonly for their time, he at 33 or so was courting her at 39/40. And so she is grateful, too, that he thinks it soon when others cry “Too late.” (XL). She then thanks all who had ever loved or listened, but again thanks Robert for listening to her even when it was difficult. She doubles down, now, on her decision to live:

I seek no copy now of life’s first half: Leave here the pages with long musing curled, And write me new my future’s epigraph, New angel mine, unhoped for in the world! (XLII)

And then—only now, as the rollercoaster shoots us upward and onward in joy and hope for a good, loving future—does she begin sonnet XLIII with How do I love thee? She asks this, not as some young girl with no life experience about a boy she’s seen across the room (I mean, how else was I supposed to interpret it, given how it’s used in the modern age?). She asks this as a woman full four decades into her life, a life full of chronic illness, an authoritarian home, and familial grief. She asks this after months of courtship during which she fought for every inch of belief, and hope, and joy. Where she at last came to know her own strength of heart and of will. Because she does leave her home, dear Reader. She elopes with Robert Browning, gets married in France, and lives out the rest of her life in Italy, where death finally catches up to her at 55. Keep all this in mind, as you read the sonnet in full:

How do I love thee?  Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of everyday’s Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

There is one more sonnet, where she brings back flowers, a motif I didn’t spend time on in this post, to talk about how their souls are intertwined down to their roots. I bring it up now not just because flowers end this glorious cycle of forty-four poems, but because I think of her grave.

A year or two after I fell in love with these poems I was lucky enough to be in Italy myself. Some friends and I were walking around Florence and I insisted we had to find the English cemetery. I remember it as being this island of a hill in the middle of some busy streets, all fenced in with a little building at the entrance. When we scurried across the street and inside, there was a nun there who greeted us warmly. I told her I was looking for Elizabeth Barrett Browning and she lit up. She motioned for us to follow as she told me that they do their best to take care of her grave, and have always done so (I don’t know if she means just those who work there or Italians in general, as EBB was loved by Florence in her time). But, she said, they did not look kindly upon Robert, because he spent all this money on a beautiful tomb but he never, ever came to visit. She said this with the authority of someone who had witnessed it herself, though of course that was impossible. This was clearly a story deemed important enough—or perhaps simply so full of strong feeling—to stand the test of time.

The tomb is indeed beautiful. The pictures when I did a quick lookup on the internet do not do it justice; forgive me for not having the energy now to dig up where I’ve saved the old files of the pictures I took myself. At the time it was absolutely surrounded by tall, enormous roses, deep red in color. After I had my fill the nun was kind enough to take us on a tour of the rest of the cemetery, which was lovely. But I’ve never been able to shake the memory of that story, the one where the nuns lived and died resentful of an absent Robert.

It wasn’t until about a year and a half ago, when I read Fiona Sampson’s recent biography Two-Way Mirror: The Life of Elizabeth Barrett Browning that it finally made sense. Robert often avoided grief in this way, it seems, afraid to travel back to England when family members were ailing until it was too late. Whether you agree with his actions or not, his absence we can at least hope is from his great love turned to great grief, rather than a lack of feeling on his part. He himself died in Venice; their only child died in Italy also. Robert is, however, still separated from Elizabeth in death: he is buried in Poet’s Corner, Westminster Abbey, London.

If you’re hoping for a neat bow on the end of this post, there isn’t. I think of her often not just because I love her poetry but, I suppose, because each year is slowly, inexorably bringing me closer to the age she was when she decided she would live her life again, and though I haven’t found a soul-shaking love like she has, I am trying, trying, trying to live, too.

[magicoldcottage]

The 12 days of Yule

Looking to add more meaning to the season?

I think it's time we started to look back at our traditions from the past, and brought real meaning to the festivities rather than the commercialised mess that Christmas has become. The season was never about how many presents you got, how much money you could spend. It was about spirituality and family.

Below I run through the 12 days of Yule which started this year on the 21st Dec. I write this on boxing day which is 6th day of Yule if you are trying to find the current day.

When is Yule?

I've seen some confusion on posts of the date, this is natural as the date varies. The celebrations commence the day before the winter solstice, the shortest  day of the year. Which does vary slightly from year to year. This year the shortest day is the 22nd, so Yule starts on the 21st.

What were the 12 days of the celebration.

On the first day of Yule, The day before that Winter Solstice. people honoured "The Mothers", the goddesses who watched over the family and the land. They offered them food and drink on Mother’s Night, and asked for their blessings for the coming year. If you don't follow the Mothers in any guise simply substitute for one you do as part of your practice. For more details on the mothers click here

On the second day of Yule, people celebrated the winter solstice, the shortest day and longest night of the year. They lit candles, bonfires, and the Yule log to symbolize the return of the sun and the warmth of life. They also decorated evergreen trees with ornaments and gifts. To those of you who've had your tree up since october, yes decorating the tree was part of the festivities. As not everyone has the ability to burn a giant log so a candle lit to banish the dark is a great modern option.

On the third day of Yule, people honoured Odin, the god of wisdom, war, and magic. They left offerings of food and drink for him and his followers, the Wild Hunt, a ghostly procession of spirits and animals that roamed the sky during the winter nights. They also told stories and poems about Odin and his adventures. It was a family day pulling everyone together to spend time telling tales and being close.

On the fourth day of Yule, people honoured Thor, the god of thunder, strength, and protection. They ate and drank in his name, and thanked him for his blessings. They also carved runes and amulets for protection and luck. If you don't fancy making Thors hammer amulets use this day to make something simple to act as protection for your family. For an easy option why not make my tripple goddess knot, only a length of string in needed, guild click here

On the fifth day of Yule, people honoured Frey, the god of fertility, prosperity, and peace. They exchanged gifts and tokens of love and friendship, and wished for a fruitful and prosperous year. They also made wreaths and garlands of mistletoe, holly, and ivy, which were sacred to Frey. Again making the Wreath was part of the festivities rather than something that you made in advance.

On the sixth day of Yule, people honoured Freya, the goddess of love, beauty, and magic. They celebrated with feasts, music, and dancing, and expressed their joy and gratitude for life. They also practiced divination and seidr, a form of shamanic magic that Freya taught to Odin. So Boxing day (as of 2023) is the day to break out your favourite divination tools and scry the future.

On the seventh day of Yule, people honoured Balder, the god of light, joy, and purity. They remembered his death and resurrection, and hoped for his return in the new world. They also played games and sports, and enjoyed the snow and ice. A great day to break out those new boardgames, invite people over who are getting bored and have a games night.

On the eighth day of Yule, people honoured Skadi, the goddess of winter, hunting, and skiing. They admired her beauty and strength, and respected her independence and justice. They also went hunting and skiing, and enjoyed the cold and the wilderness. Not everyone is going to enjoy a hunt, but getting out in nature to spend some time to appreciate the beauty of the world around us should be our target on this day.

On the ninth day of Yule, people honoured Ullr, the god of archery, skiing, and dueling. They praised his skill and courage, and challenged themselves and others to contests of honor and glory. They also made offerings of skis, bows, and arrows to Ullr. Although Monopoly in our house tends to turn into a blood sport, contents of strength should be slightly more energetic.

On the tenth day of Yule, people honoured Loki, the god of mischief, fire, and change. They laughed at his tricks and pranks, and acknowledged his role in the balance of the world. They also played jokes and riddles, and embraced the chaos and the change.  Again draw together with friends or family and have some fun, even if its settling down for a good comedy film.

On the eleventh day of Yule, for the end of the year people honoured the ancestors, the spirits of the dead who lived on in the otherworld. They remembered their names and deeds, and honoured their legacy and wisdom. They also set a place for them at the table, and shared stories and memories with them. We have all lost someone who remains in our hearts. Use this day to remind yourself how they have touched your life. Pull out the old photographs, share their stories with those too young to remember them and keep them alive. Click here for my memory stones for those feeling crafty.

On the twelfth day of Yule, people honoured the Norns, the goddesses of fate who wove the threads of destiny. They reflected on the past, the present, and the future, and made resolutions and plans for the new year. They also burned the remains of the Yule log, and scattered the ashes for good luck. This day normally falls around the new year and the tradition lives on as "New Year Resolutions". Don't aim for the impossible, practical resolutions are far easier to stick to.

For more ideas of things to make or do, click here for my masterpost.

[dk-thrive]

Hope has holes in its pockets. It leaves little crumb trails so that we, when anxious, can follow it. Hope’s secret: it doesn’t know the destination it knows only that all roads begin with one foot in front of the other.

— Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, "Hope" in "How to Love the World: Poems of Gratitude and Hope (Storey Publishing, LLC, March 23, 2021)

[rabbitcruiser]

Remembrance Day

Honoring those who served with respect, gratitude, and ceremonies that pay tribute to their sacrifice and dedication.

Set aside as a time to honor those who served and lost their lives fighting in wars and national conflict, Remembrance Day also allows people to remember the devastation that comes out of war, encouraging them to try to live at peace with one another. 

History of Remembrance Day

Remembrance Day has a history that can be followed back to what was originally Armistice Day. A key part of the celebration is the fact that the formal end of World War I was scheduled to take place at the 11th hour on the 11th day of the 11th month of the year in 1918.

So, the following year, this date was celebrated in honor of those who fought in the war, especially those who lost their lives, and reminding everyone about the brutality and hostility of war. The original Armistice Day was celebrated in November 1919, with events hosted by King George V and held at Buckingham Palace.

During World War II, the day changed its name. Armistice Day in the UK and other Commonwealth nations became Remembrance Day, while the United States changed the name to Veteran’s Day. Since then, other conflicts and wars have arisen in various nations, and Remembrance Day may be used to remember and honor all of the soldiers and veterans, whether recently or a century ago. 

In some countries, Remembrance Day is a public government holiday, where schools and many offices are closed, while other countries simply encourage people to pay their respects in their free time on Remembrance Day.

Take some time on this Remembrance Day to show some appreciation for those soldiers, sailors, airmen, officers and others who were committed to fighting for freedom.

How to Observe Remembrance Day

A wide range of opportunities are available for people to celebrate Remembrance Day on a very small scale or on a larger scale. Join in with millions of others to show respect for those who lost their lives or fought in a war, and also take some time to think on and remember how important it is to strive for peace in the world today. Consider some of these ideas for observing Remembrance Day:

Wear a Red Poppy

In the United Kingdom, the symbol that shows support for the armed forces is a red poppy flower. This originated from a poem written after World War I that described the poppies marking the graves of soldiers who were killed fighting for their country. The poem, named “In Flanders Fields” was written by a Canadian doctor after he had lost a friend in the war. In 1921, the emblem of the red poppy was chosen by the British Legion to honor those who had died and also encourage those still living.

All throughout the month of November, the red poppy is worn as a symbol of hope for the future and remembrance of the past. They are sold as fundraisers for charitable efforts that help veterans with housing, jobs or other assistance. Some of these poppies are sold along with the theme “Lest We Forget”. People who choose to get poppies can place them on their coat lapels or wear them in other places in support of Remembrance Day.

Take a Moment of Silence

At 11am on this day, many people stop what they are doing, at work, at school or in public spaces, to hold a moment of silence. This moment is meant to be a solemn remembrance of those who lost their lives as part of serving and defending their country. Some Remembrance Day events hold two minutes of silence and then will have a ceremony or other way for people to gather, listen, speak and remember.

Honor or Thank a Veteran

Those who have friends, family members, coworkers or other loved ones who are veterans may want to take some time on Remembrance Day to thank them for their service in protecting their country. And those who have special veterans who have already died may want to pay respect and honor them by sharing a photo of them on social media as a tribute to their memory.

Attend a Remembrance Day Event

Many cities, states and governments across the world host events related to Remembrance Day or Veteran’s Day. Find out what events or ceremonies are taking place in the local area, whether a memorial service, parade, dinner or some other way to mark the occasion. Community leaders who don’t already have events planned in their local area might be interested in starting one through their town, school, local chapter of a veteran’s support group, or some other foundation.

Learn About the History of Remembrance Day

One important way to observe a day that acts as a reminder of the horrors of war might be to learn more about its history. The catalyst of Remembrance Day was World War I, which took place more than 100 years ago now, and many modern people are not well educated on the details of this war. The internet has all kinds of different resources for people to grow in their knowledge of the world wars, and a local library would also be a great place to check out some history books for more information.

Support a Veterans’ Charity

Those who leave their homes and families to serve in the military often have to make very large sacrifices. And many times, when they come home after serving in a war or conflict, they have difficulty getting their lives back on track. From financial and personal hardship with finding a job or emotional distress from post-traumatic stress, many veterans need extra support.

In honor of Remembrance Day, some people might think it’s a good idea to make a donation to financially support a veterans charity. Or it might be a time to find out if there are ways to volunteer to help. This could include something like transporting veterans to medical appointments, leading recreational programs, serving coffee and refreshments at events, or simply providing companionship to those in need.

Source

[buglyknight]

595) thank you.

Grit your teeth

Fist to wall

This time with

Grim determination

Be a knight

And shut the fuck up.

This is your last chance

No.

I might not get one.

Too many obstacles.

The gates are locked.

Sorry I wasn't cut out to be just a knight

Sorry I tried to hold you too tight

I'll be here bug.

I hope your life is truly beautiful

Everyday I hope you feel loved

I know

I'm crying with gratitude and

There's so much more to thank you for

And

I know.

Thank you

Thank you

Thank you

You will always be

Perfect to me

I'll always love you

I've been thinking about how

Glad I am to have known you

Thanks for every wonderful emotion

Every word from your lips

Thank you for coming over

Thank you for playing chess

Thank you for calling me pretty

Thank you for pushing me in front of those sprinklers

Thank you for taking walks with me

Thank you for making my feet thump

Thank you for making me so bright

Thank you for invincibility

Thank you for all that energy

Thank you for listening to me

Thank you for stalling passed that lamppost

Thank you for wanting to hear me play piano

Thank you for all my keepsakes

Thank you for texting me on Christmases

When I was stuck with family

Thank you for the fair

Thank you for making me feel young

Thank you for complimenting my eyes

Thank you for caring

Thank you for loving me

Thank you for the excitement and adventure

Thank you for telling me about your days

And for telling me about your desires

And for telling me about your feelings

And thank you for laughing with me

Thank you for holding hands

Thank you for poking me

Thank you for slapping me

Thank you for making this world beautiful

Thank you for trying to learn Morse code with me

Thank you for coming over on my birthday

Thank you for hanging out at the mall that day

Thank you for letting me bring you taco bell, was it?

Thank you for letting my drive you home from work that one time

I'm glad I was there for you, then

Thank you for inviting me to your birthday

Thank you for trying to hang out with me

Thank you for being so special

So unbelievably special

So unfathomably lovely

Thank you for the starlight

Thank you for the playlist

Thank you for being on my mind all the time

Thank you for being the first thing I think of

In the morning

And the last thing I think of

Going to bed

Thank you for following me into my dreams afterwards

Thank you for being so much fun all the time

Thank you for talking to me

Thank you for wiping your tears on me

Thank you for laying against me

Thank you for falling into my arms

Thank you for holding my bicep

Thank you for touching my collar bone

Thank you for kissing my cheek

Thank you for staying up all night to talk on the phone

Thank you for every poem you wrote

I know I was in a bad place for two of them

Burning

But I read them again the other day and they're so amazing

Thank you. You're brilliant, you know.

Thank you for being the only place

I would have loved to call home

Thank you so much

Thank you

There's so much more to thank you for

I'll never be able to say enough

Thank you for everything

Thank you.

I'll be here, always, bug

I promise

Forever and always

I promise it.

I love you, all that you are.

If you need me

I'll never be far from you.

I really hope your wedding is wonderful

I really hope he makes you so happy

I really do hope your life is unbelievably amazing

I hope you get to be the happiest person in the world

I'm sorry for how it's been

But

Thank you, again

[wholenessblooming]

“I have been spending a lot of time lately thinking about witness, about how witness itself is a kind of poetics, or poesis, which means making. By which I mean I have been wondering about how we make the world in our witnessing of it.

Or maybe I have come to understand, to believe, how we witness makes our world. This is why attending to what we love, what we are astonished by, what flummoxes us with beauty, is such crucial work. Such rigorous work. Likewise, studying how we care, and are cared for, how we tend and are tended to, how we give and are given, is such necessary work. It makes the world. Witnessing how we are loved and how we love makes the world.

Truth is, we are mostly too acquainted with the opposite, with the wreckage. It commands our attention, and for good reason. We have to survive it. But even if we need to understand the wreckage to survive it, it needn’t be the primary object of our study.

The survival need be. The reaching and the holding need be. The here, have this need be. The come in, you can stay here need be. The let’s share it all need be. The love need be. The care need be. That we are made by, held by, need be. Who’s taken us in need be. Who’s saved the seed need be. Who’s planted the milkweed need be. Who’s saved the water need be. Who’s saved the forest need be. The forest need be. The water. The breathable air. That which witnessed us forth need be. How we have been loved need be. How we are loved need be. How we need need be, too. Our radiant need. Our luminous and mycelial need. Our need immense and immeasurable. Our need absolute need be. And that study, that practice, that witness, is called gratitude. Our gratitude need be.”

Ross Gay, in the foreward of the book ‘How to Love the World: Poems of Gratitude and Hope’ by James Crew

[greywindys]

📗 - ✨️

📗 Do you want to write something outside of fanfiction? If so, what about?

I'm not opposed to it! But it's not something I'd say was one my bucket list. I'll occasionally do little things, like write a poem on a birthday card, or short stories for my nieces and nephews. If the opportunity for something more ever came up, and I believed in the project, sure! But it has to come to me, I won't seek that out. The day job and social life take up time, but it will always be a hobby

✨️ Out of the comments you’ve received on your fics, what are two or three of your favorites?

This is a hard one! I love all the comments I receive. I don't want to single anyone out if they don't want to be singled out, but a number of people have been known to take the time to write out multi-paragraph comments reflecting on themes, predictions, personal stories etc. Those are always special because it's so neat to see a reader piece things together in real time. I can't copy paste the entire parts of these here, but here's are excerpts of a few:

"I'm so into the story too. The way you write their personalities is just amazing. It made me rethink what I imagine they'd be like. It seems that the way you wrote them, with all of their quirks, reactions and routines are all exactly how they're supposed to be. Nothing feels generic, everything seems so carefully put together to make them natural, real." "It's interesting where you decided to take the story, and a little wild, which I think is just SO fantastic. It's not at all outside the realm of possibility in their universe - Noodle even went to hell for a while back there - while not necessarily playing with ideas and oddities that had already been established in the world. It's mundane without being too ordinary, and it's being unusual and getting fantastical (i'd love to see just how far that goes in the future) without immediately calling back on something already "approved" of in the Gorillaz past antics. That's not something I feel like I've seen a lot, however briefly I've been poking my nose around this sort of thing, which - at least personally - is making this story a particularly memorable one for me." "But more than anything else, I hope I can express to you gratitude for doing this for Murdoc. For fleshing out such an honest and heart-wrenching and triumphant story of self-discovery and recovery. Of all emotions that fizzled and sparked while reading this chapter (and really, the last couple of chapters), one word that comes forth is: inspiring"

BTW, anon, thanks for giving me an excuse to re-read some of these, it had been a while haha.

ask game

[finishinglinepress]

NEW FROM FINISHING LINE PRESS: The Boat that Brought Sadness into the World by Eva Skrande

On SALE now! Pre-order Price Guarantee:

https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/the-boat-that-brought-sadness-into-the-world-by-eva-skrande/

The poems in The Boat that Brought Sadness into the World address #exile both literally and metaphorically. The book addresses the literal exile of the poems’ main speaker as well as the hard migrations of refugees. It discusses how exile might “swallow [one] whole” and the pain of #refugees, whom the speaker imagines long to see their homeland once more. Metaphorically, it looks at life as a #journey of and to exile. The book explores, for example, the journey from childhood through older ages and suggests that death is the ultimate exile as we leave the country of the body. These #poems are incantations that challenge, refuse, and accept loss and longing.

Eva Skrande is the author of three volumes of poems, including My Mother’s Cuba and Bone Argot along with the chapbook, The Gates of the Somnambulist. Her poems have appeared in Agni, The Iowa Review, Smartish Pace the American Poetry Review, and other journals. She has received fellowships from the Creative Writing Program at the University of Houston, the Inprint Foundation, and the Houston Arts Council. She teaches for Writers in the Schools in Houston. She is a faculty tutor at Houston Community College and is a writing coach and founder of Write for Success Tutoring.

PRAISE FOR The Boat that Brought Sadness into the World by Eva Skrande

“I start,” Eva Skrande writes, “where I always start: in the nave of the throat / where the hymns of fish decree that stars shall ride on their backs forever.” In The Boat that Brought Sadness into the World, the poet constructs a rich symbolic landscape populated by lilies and crows, moons and fish, yearning mothers and displaced daughters. What emerges from it all is a brilliant meditation on exile—exile as displacement, as state of mind and body, as metaphor and as fact—beautifully imagined and intricately interconnected. “I am made of countries / and bone,” Skrande concludes. “Made of wishes / of juniper and pine / of the promises told to the exiled.” This is a gorgeous book, one I will return to with pleasure.

–Kevin Prufer, author of The Art of Fiction: Poems

“I am made of countries/and bone,” Eva Skrande writes in this magical book of sorrow and mystery, blessing and lament. These surreal hymns sing with a sacred air!

–Edward Hirsch, author of How to Read a Poem: And Fall in Love with Poetry

“Eva Skrande‘s poetry sails again through the universal realms of her spiritual ancestors –Gabriela Mistral, Esther Raab, Yehuda Amichai, Charles Simic — with her own flowing, sensuous and distinct music of psyche and language. Skrande’s work leaps with primal joy into humility, longing, ecstasy, and above all, profound gratitude for both the natural and the diverse cultural worlds she has inherited by birth. Now, in her third still miraculously ingenuous book the poet wings her visionary way through perilous journeys into the shared territories of Divine Love and human forgiveness.”

–Victoria Tester, author of Miracles of Sainted Earth

In her impressive third collection, Eva Skrande fashions an island out of memory. With elegant, sometimes Biblical language and bold strokes she unpacks a shared history of exile, opening wide the doors to a place where the past is both refuge and roadmap. Intimate and expressive, The Boat that Brought Sadness into the World becomes a manual for the disenfranchised and the hopeful, a graceful primer for “those with nowhere to dock their dreams.”

–Silvia Curbelo, author of Falling Landscape

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