elegantlylamentingtheloss

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We must learn to own our hunger.

T. Hall

#t. hall #me #mine #poetry ideas #scraps #thoughts

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The library. All the books cloistered in their dusty shrouds.

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[elegantlylamentingtheloss]

Night Song

Still my mother combs her long black hair, but there is no water, no consolation of salt. By coal glow and cricket song, the wolf steps, obscures the moon. My mother's face appears a mask of anger where the birds sleep. Over the violin night she scrapes her hair, a white belly stretched over sand. Over the coals, the black bony plates. A lizard's shell erupts, white flesh into flame. The heat on my belly is good. I lie on my side near the fire's burning, near each cinder's glow. More cracks in the rock, and the desert forgets the sea voices, the creatures drowned in stone-- a black extinction, a faint remembrance of tides. My mother's eyes, once young, have turned to sand, brushed by wind where the moon begins to hum a song of blood, the night's cold and shadowed rest. Her breasts hang heavy as stone. I pray waters, but nothing disturbs this slumber nor parts the white hairs of night. Each rail is buried, each train has gone. Only maps attest to elsewhere-- a grove of live birds ever away. Here, a chair, a country where nothing grows and death lasts for days. Here, a residue of sky and sand, a flame's mirage. My mother's hands begin their slow hush. Still she sings her hair to sleep over my crib, still the birds in the belly swell violins at dawn. I close my eyes and dream a sea of voices, dream mirrors turned upward from the root. It is here I begin to drown-- a ripple of sky where I enter, a small patch of night where the rains descend.

--t. hall

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[elegantlylamentingtheloss]

Poetry: the art of transmuting incoherence into romance.

t. hall

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[elegantlylamentingtheloss]

“A poet is a man [or woman] who manages, in a lifetime of standing out in thunderstorms, to be struck by lightning five or six times.”

–Randall Jarrell

#elegantlylamentingtheloss #quotes #randall jarrell #poet

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“I want nothing. I just want the emptiness to mean something.” — Ernest Hemingway, The Complete Short stories Richard Tuschman

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“The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.”

— Albert Camus

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Leopoldo Pomés

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Paula Ludwig, Centres of Cataclysm: Celebrating Fifty Years of Modern Poetry in Translation; ‘When you return it's always...’, tr. Martina Thomson

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GEORGE FREDERIC WATTS / “HOPE” / 1886 [oil on canvas | 142.2 × 111.8 cm.]

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emir özşahin

[elegantlylamentingtheloss]

D. H. Lawrence, from Selected Poems and Writings; “The Lemon Gardens,”

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Balloons, Buenos Aires, Argentina, circa 1910.

[elegantlylamentingtheloss]

These wounds have existed throughout time.

I am merely their embodiment.

—t. Hall

#elegantlylamentingtheloss #t hall #poetry scraps #poetry ideas #poetry quotes #wounds