#wendell berry

[poetrysmackdown]

[metamorphesque]

though i am heavy, there is flight around me

wendell berry, the fall of icarus, f. scott fitzgerald, christophe vacher, hozier, galileo chini, mahmoud darwish (tr. catherine cobham), rubens, akwaeke emezi, alfred schwarzschild

[sageandscorpiongrass]

Have you ever thought about losing your brother?

me vs. making webweaves on dying and family. really this was just an excuse to think about killing flies.

Killing Flies, Michael Dickman | Separation, W.S. Merwin | Eurydice, Ocean Vuong | It, Stephen King | Winnie-the-Pooh, A.A Milne | Fading Kitten Syndrome, ROAR | Quote via. Maurice Sendak | A Meeting, Wendell Berry | Anguish, August Friedrich Schenck | West Wind I, Mary Oliver | Planet of Love, Richard Siken | Quote via. C.C, Aurel | Oats We Sow, Gregory and the Hawk | The Living to the Dead, Käthe Kollwitz | Quote via Fortesa Latifi | Antigonick, Anne Carson | Killing Flies, Michael Dickman (cont.)

[apilgrimsprogress]

We are called to love the world as God loves the world. Loving this deeply, this openly, will break our hearts. When our hearts are broken wide-open, if we are willing to remain anchored in love, we find our capacity to love magnified. It is a cycle of life and brokenness and life renewed perpetually. Our calling is nothing less than this.

Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow

[apoemaday]

The Peace of Wild Things

by Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

[luthienne]

Wendell Berry

[sicknessinmotion]

poetry as a sort of life

wendell berry // charles bukowski // george oppen // karen glenn // pamela spiro wagner // heather mchugh.

[geopsych]

October 10 by Wendell Berry Now constantly there is the sound, quieter than rain, of the leaves falling. Under their loosening bright gold, the sycamore limbs bleach whiter. Now the only flowers are beeweed and aster, spray of their white and lavender over the brown leaves. The calling of a crow sounds loud—a landmark—now that the life of summer falls silent, and the nights grow.

[blackberryjambaby]

in a dream

emily brontë, wuthering heights (via @petaltexturedskies) / jeremy ville / anaïs nin, journals of anaïs nin: 1929 / neil young, harvest moon / louise glück, brennende liebe / @hel7l7 / anonymous (via @ruhlare) / wendell berry, a meeting / richard siken, i had a dream about you

[mordere-diem]

"Stay away from anything    that obscures the place it is in.    There are no unsacred places;    there are only sacred places    and desecrated places."

Wendell Berry, How to Be a Poet

[adventuresofalgy]

The weather birds had promised Algy a brief respite from the drenching Scotch mist, and he was gratified to discover that for once their forecast was correct, for the next morning was decidedly brighter, and although the rain – and no doubt the mist too – would surely return, it was pleasant to see the world again, and to be able to relax without having to shake the water off one's feathers every few seconds…

Flying back to the edge of the peat bog, Algy settled down on a convenient bank of heather, which bordered one of the many small pools to be found scattered across the treacherous marsh. Leaning back happily on the accommodating wee bushes, he pondered the mysteries of the wild west Highland weather, and thought how very much more agreeable it was not to be soaking wet… If only it could last!

But for now he was both dry and comfortable, and so – forgetting about his recent drenching and the dreariness of the short, dark days – Algy turned his thoughts instead to his human friends who were beset by quite different concerns and miseries. He knew that many were greatly worried about the human conduct of the world, and some were perhaps even falling victim to its excesses.

Reclining in the tranquillity of a wilderness where "the great heron feeds", Algy recalled a particularly apposite poem, and he very much hoped that those of his friends who were troubled or distressed would also be able to come into the peace of wild things and rest for a while…

When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

[Algy is quoting the poem The Peace of Wild Things by the contemporary American writer Wendell Berry.]

[serenityquest]

[metamorphesque]

Wendell Berry, "A Warning To My Readers"

[red-ibis-red]

[dk-thrive]

Again I resume the long lesson: how small a thing can be pleasing, how little in this hard world it takes to satisfy the mind and bring it to its rest.

— Wendell Berry, from "Sabbaths 1999, VII" in "Given: Poems" (Counterpoint, May 6, 2005)

[apoemaday]

Stay Home

by Wendell Berry

I will wait here in the fields to see how well the rain brings on the grass. In the labor of the fields longer than a man’s life I am at home. Don’t come with me. You stay home too.

I will be standing in the woods where the old trees move only with the wind and then with gravity. In the stillness of the trees I am at home. Don’t come with me. You stay home too.