#tracy k. smith
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firstfullmoon · 2 years ago
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this 🤝 vievee francis saying the poem won’t be ruined if you let us in
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havingapoemwithyou · 8 months ago
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i don’t miss it by Tracy K. Smith
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sageandscorpiongrass · 2 years ago
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I am looking inward, You are looking at me.
Quote via. @/petfurniture on Twitter | The Dharma Bums, Jack Kerouac | The Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays, Albert Camus | Nine, Sleeping At Last | The Essence of Hope: His Guiding Light, Randy Burns | Oak Tree Towering Prescence, Tatyana Fogarty | The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoevsky | Don't You Wonder Sometimes?, Tracy K. Smith | Quote via. Roland Barthes | The Bug Collector, Haley Heynderickx | The Cottar's Pride - a Cottage Garden, Henry Sutton Palmer | Bitter Herb, Erica Jong | 1884, George Orwell
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majestativa · 12 days ago
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Your wild blaze.
— YI LEI ⚜️ My Name Will Grow Wide Like a Tree: Selected Poems, transl. by Tracy K. Smith & Changtai Bi, (2020)
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hospital-wh0re · 2 years ago
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ash, tracy k. smith // house md 
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llovelymoonn · 1 year ago
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tracy k. smith life on mars: “the universe: original motion picture soundtrack”
support me
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apoemaday · 2 years ago
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My God, It’s Full of Stars
by Tracy K. Smith
In those last scenes of Kubrick’s 2001 When Dave is whisked into the center of space, Which unfurls in an aurora of orgasmic light Before opening wide, like a jungle orchid For a love-struck bee, then goes liquid, Paint-in-water, and then gauze wafting out and off, Before, finally, the night tide, luminescent And vague, swirls in, and on and on…
In those last scenes, as he floats Above Jupiter’s vast canyons and seas, Over the lava strewn plains and mountains Packed in ice, that whole time, he doesn’t blink. In his little ship, blind to what he rides, whisked Across the wide-screen of unparcelled time, Who knows what blazes through his mind? Is it still his life he moves through, or does That end at the end of what he can name?
On set, it’s shot after shot till Kubrick is happy, Then the costumes go back on their racks And the great gleaming set goes black.
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barnabascollins · 2 years ago
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on houses and haunting, on homes and tombs, on leaving and going back
tracy k. smith, ash // dark shadows, episode 220 // thomas wolfe, you can’t go home again // 280 // wolfe // 239 // death cab, gold rush // smith // 430 // smith // history, tombs // 212 // wolfe // 212 // tumblr // 212 // the haunting of hill house // wolfe // 319 // smith // wolfe // 212 // wolfe // smith // 440 // maya angelou
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sicknessinmotion · 1 year ago
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OTHER BOYS ARE BORING AND YOU'RE A BURNING HOUSE I WANT TO LIVE IN.
the prisoner, emily brönte // richard kadrey // the haunting of hill house, shirley jackson // the haunting of hill house, shirley jackson // anett holmvik // ghost i, christina marie brown // ash, tracy k. smith
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cityofchapin · 8 months ago
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"Unrest in Baton Rouge" by Tracy K. Smith
"Unrest in Baton Rouge" after the photo by Jonathan BachmanOur bodies run with ink dark blood.Blood pools in the pavement’s seams.Is it strange to say love is a languageFew practice, but all, or near all speak?Even the men in black armor, the onesJangling handcuffs and keys, what elseAre they so buffered against, if not love’s bladeSizing up the heart’s familiar meat?We watch and grieve. We…
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View On WordPress
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firstfullmoon · 1 year ago
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Tracy K. Smith, “Song”
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havingapoemwithyou · 10 months ago
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an old story by Tracy K. Smith
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malaisequotes · 1 year ago
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“Haunted house. Lonely house. House of trick and suck and shrug. Give-it-to-me house. I-need-you-baby house. House whose rooms are pooled with blood. House with hands. House of guilt. House that other houses built.”
Ash by Tracy K. Smith
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majestativa · 12 days ago
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I lay myself upon the waters. I glow. Virginal, absolved.
— YI LEI ⚜️ My Name Will Grow Wide Like a Tree: Selected Poems, transl. by Tracy K. Smith & Changtai Bi, (2020)
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violettesiren · 1 year ago
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I wish it would grab me by the ankles and pull. I wish its shadow would dance up close, closing in.
When I close my eyes a presence forms, backs away. I float above a lake, am dragged back
from a portion of sky. Down, down, the falling doesn’t end. Every marked body must descend.
Is the world intended for me? Not just me but the we that fills me? Our shadows reel and dart.
Our blood simmers, stirred back. What if the world has never had—will never have—our backs?
The world has never had—will never have—our backs. Our blood simmers, stirred back. What if
the we that fills me, our shadows real and dark, is the world intended for me? Not just me but
every marked body must descend from a portion of sky. Down, down, the falling doesn’t end.
I float above a lake, am dragged back when I close my eyes. A presence forms, backs away.
I wish its shadow would dance up close, closing in. I wish it would grab me by the ankles and pull.
I Sit Outside in Low Late-Afternoon Light to Feel Earth Call to Me by Tracy K. Smith
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adreciclarte4 · 11 months ago
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Tracy K. Smith, 2019 by Richard Avedon
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