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#franz wright
transcendentalbf · 3 days ago
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heaven, franz wright
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genesis 3:30, the mountain goats
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graceland too, phoebe bridgers
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episode 20: acting out, mabel
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you are jeff, richard siken
so. love, huh!
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bellsofatlantis · 4 days ago
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This sky like an infinite tenderness, I have caught glimpses of that, often, so often, and never yet have I described it, I can't, somehow, I never will.
Franz Wright, Walking to Martha’s Vineyard
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bellsofatlantis · 6 days ago
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It is freezing, but it is a good thing to step outside again: you can feel less alone in the night, with lights on here and there between the dark buildings and trees. Your own among them, somewhere.
Franz Wright, from God’s silence; “night walk”
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bellsofatlantis · 6 days ago
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And let me ask you this: the dead, where aren't they?
Franz Wright, from God’s Silence; “the visiting”
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bellsofatlantis · 6 days ago
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I love you, therefore you are here.
Franz Wright, from God's Silence
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elizabethanism · 7 days ago
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Franz Wright to dazzle this Saturday afternoon:
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bellsofatlantis · 9 days ago
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I'm still alone with all the world's beauty and cruelty.
Franz Wright, from God’s silence; “progress”
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bellsofatlantis · 9 days ago
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Walking home, for a moment you almost believe you could start again. And an intense love rushes to your heart, and hope. It's unendurable, unendurable.
Franz Wright, from God’s silence; “night walk”
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bellsofatlantis · 9 days ago
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The long silences need to be loved, perhaps more than the words which arrive to describe them in time.
Franz Wright, from God’s silence; “home remedy”
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illusion222 · 12 days ago
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Walking home, for a moment you almost believe you could start again. And an intense love rushes to your heart, and hope. It’s unendurable, unendurable.
Franz Wright, From ‘East Boston, 1996; Night Walk’
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bellsofatlantis · 13 days ago
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We love one another. We don't really know anyone well, but we love one another
Franz Wright, Walking to Martha’s Vineyard; “5.00 Mass”
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bellsofatlantis · 13 days ago
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At ten I turned you into a religion
Franz Wright, Walking to Martha’s Vineyard; “Flight”
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bellsofatlantis · 13 days ago
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Franz Wright, from Walking to Martha’s Vineyard
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fearlastyear · 18 days ago
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This being I was seeking all my life with despair, finding him here and there for a time, so I thought, and pressing on. The being I sought, always failing, always rising and trying again, all my life, to become.
—Franz Wright, “The Last”
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elizabethanism · 22 days ago
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"I just noticed that it is my own private
National I Hate Myself and Want to Die Day
(which means the next day I will love my life
and want to live forever)."
Re-reading one of my favorite poems by Franz Wright:
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fearlastyear · 28 days ago
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“Father, I’m thirty-six, yet I lie here in your crib” “still your strange elderly child” exactly <3
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thenightisland · 28 days ago
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As for me I have no mind to lose anymore, I am through with all that - ... I am so glad 
that I no longer know, no longer care. And one more thing:
the future? Never
been there
-Franz Wright, God’s Silence
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thenightisland · 29 days ago
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Empty me of the bitterness and disappointment of being nothing but myself.
-Franz Wright, God’s Silence
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thenightisland · a month ago
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When I look at the bare field in winter, the sunflowers are there.
When I gaze at the sunflowers I see the scarred snowy fields.
This is how you can tell you are ready to leave
this beautiful and deadly place, depart
and return there, annihilated, healed.
While there is time
-Franz Wright, God’s Silence
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commasofcare · a month ago
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It’s true I never write, but I would gladly die with you. Gladly lower myself down alone with you into the enormous mouth that waits, beyond youth, beyond every instant of ecstasy, remember: before battle we would do each other’s makeup, comb each other’s hair out saying we are unconquerable, we are terrible and splendid— the mouth waiting, patiently waiting. And I will meet you there again
[…] I am already waiting in your personal heaven, here is my hand, I will help you across. I would gladly die with you still, although I never write
[…] Remember me. Do you remember me? In the night’s windowless darkness when I am lying cold and numb and no one’s fiddling with the lock, or shining flashlights in my eyes, although I never write, secretly I long to die with you, does that count?
— Franz Wright, Dedication
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