advent by Heather Christle
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wake up babe! new insane instagram caption by a poet just dropped
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from that air of ruthlessness in spring by heather christle, published in the trees the trees
[Text ID: are you sad / did you touch the world / the wrong way? /End ID]
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MISTAKE
For years I have seen
dead animals on the highway
and grieved for them
only to realize they are
not dead animals
they are t shirts
or bits of blown tire
and I have found
myself with this
excess of grief
I have made with
no object to let
it spill over and
I have not known
where to put it or
keep it and then today
I thought I know
I can give it to you
HEATHER CHRISTLE
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I wish I could love him again, and better.
Heather Christle, The Crying Book
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With me, I can pretty quickly hear whether there is a thing that is alive inside the poem. But for me, if that thing that’s alive in some poems isn’t there, there’s nothing I can do to make it come forward, you know? Some poems have life, and some just don’t. Sometimes it’s an ostrich, and sometimes it’s a cinder block, and no matter what I do I can’t make a cinder block be an ostrich.
Heather Christle, from “Back Draft: Heather Christle”, published in Guernica Magazine, July 11, 2018
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heather christle / louise glück
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Most crying happens at night. People cry out of fatigue. But how horrible it is to hear someone say, “She's just tired!” Tired, yes, certainly, but just? There is nothing just about it.
—Heather Christle, The Crying Book
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Claudio Cargiolli (b.1952) - Lunare. 2019. Oil on canvas.
* * * *
The world itself, all I read, the people, the art, the weather I encounter, they all belong in a poem that I am not writing, a poem that contains me too, a poem that slowly reveals its generous and surprising connections. I think I cannot write that poem. I can only live in it.
— Heather Christle, “Crying in the Library,” for Fugitive Leaves (via bostonpoetryslam)
[quidnunc]
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perfect song by Heather Christle
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Heather Christle, from “Directly at the Sun,” in What Is Amazing [ID in ALT]
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Confusión - Heather Christle
Por años he visto
animales muertos en la carretera
y me deprimo sólo para
después darme cuenta
que no son animales muertos
sino poleras
o trozos de neumáticos reventados
y tengo que lidiar
con una pena
tremenda
de la que me he llenado sin
tener un objeto
en qué proyectarla y
nunca he sabido
dónde ponerla o
dónde guardarla
ahora creo que sé
que te la puedo regalar
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SELF-PORTRAIT WITH FIRE - Heather Christle
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She turned to stone but even that could not stop her tears
Heather Christle, The Crying Book
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