#mark strand

[apocryphics]

[apoemaday]

Black Sea

by Mark Strand

One clear night while the others slept, I climbed the stairs to the roof of the house and under a sky strewn with stars I gazed at the sea, at the spread of it, the rolling crests of it raked by the wind, becoming like bits of lace tossed in the air. I stood in the long, whispering night, waiting for something, a sign, the approach of a distant light, and I imagined you coming closer, the dark waves of your hair mingling with the sea, and the dark became desire, and desire the arriving light. The nearness, the momentary warmth of you as I stood on that lonely height watching the slow swells of the sea break on the shore and turn briefly into glass and disappear… Why did I believe you would come out of nowhere? Why with all that the world offers would you come only because I was here?

[tadpal]

Keeping Things Whole by Mark Strand

[malojasnake]

— The Next Time, by Mark Strand

[contremineur]

The lost day, the lost light. Why do I love what fades?

Mark Strand, from The guardian (in Darker, Atheneum 1971)

[havingapoemwithyou]

keeping things whole by Mark Strand

[soracities]

Mark Strand, "Eating Poetry"

[sirenofthegreenbanks]

i want

sometimes, you just want something so hard you have to lie about it, so you can hold it in your mouth for a minute

most days i want to live

to experience

how real hunger has a real taste

most days the garden‘s almost enough.

your vulnerability

little pink flowers

on the sage, even though

the man said we couldnt‘t eat it. not this kind.

and i said,

then, gosh, what‘s the point?

not all days. but most days i do

but

i don‘t want

to be vulnerable

in a field i am the absence of field.

this is always the case.

wherever i am

i am what is missing

do you love me enough that i may be

vulnerability is courage in you and inadequacy in me

weak

with you? do you love me

i‘m drawn

stripped of everything

to your vulnerability but

that might be lost, for only

the things i will

have

repelled by mine

for ever?

Dancing Greatly, Brené Brown | 《山河令》 Word of Honor (2021) | Lies About Sea Creatures, Ada Limón | Most Days I Want To Live, Gabrielle Calvocoressi | Keeping Things Whole, Mark Strand | Essays In Love, Alain de Botton

companion piece to this

[undinesea]

Even this late it happens: the coming of love, the coming of light. You wake and the candles are lit as if by themselves, stars gather, dreams pour into your pillows, sending up warm bouquets of air. Even this late the bones of the body shine and tomorrow's dust flares into breath.

Mark Strand, from The Coming of Light

[derangedrhythms]

Mark Strand, Eating Poetry

[dk-thrive]

My body lies down and I hear my own voice lying next to me.

— Mark Strand, from "The Seven Last Words" in Jacket, October 19, 2022 (via Thoughts)

[apoemaday]

Eating Poetry

by Mark Strand

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth. There is no happiness like mine. I have been eating poetry.

The librarian does not believe what she sees. Her eyes are sad and she walks with her hands in her dress.

The poems are gone. The light is dim. The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.

Their eyeballs roll, their blond legs bum like brush. The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.

She does not understand. When I get on my knees and lick her hand, she screams.

I am a new man. I snarl at her and bark. I romp with joy in the bookish dark.

[leggerezza-dell-essere]

Niente ti dirà

dove sei.

Ogni attimo é un posto

dove non sei mai stato.

Mark Strand

____Mario Giacomelli

[malojasnake]

— The Next Time, by Mark Strand

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

A pair of prose poems from the playful and mysterious Mark Strand (1934-2014), who often considered the beyond, and how to speak to—and even from—its unreachable dimensions. •

In the Afterlife She stood beside me for years, or was it a moment? I cannot remember. Maybe I loved her, maybe I didn’t. There was a house, and then no house. There were trees, but none remain. When no one remembers, what is there? You, whose moments are gone, who drift like smoke in the afterlife, tell me something, tell me anything. _____ The Triumph of the Infinite I got up in the night and went to the end of the hall. Over the door in large letters it said, “This is the next life. Please come in.” I opened the door. Across the room a bearded man in a pale green suit turned to me and said, “Better get ready, we’re taking the long way.” “Now I’ll wake up,” I thought, but I was wrong. We began our journey over golden tundra and patches of ice. Then there was nothing for miles around, and all I could hear was my heart pumping and pumping so hard I thought I would die all over again.

[From my long form blog: Alive On All Channels]

[havingapoemwithyou]

lines for winter by Mark Strand