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#the great wound
luthienne · 14 hours ago
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All I can hear / most nights is the howling, even if, sometimes, sure, / I forget to think about it—
Carl Phillips, from Reconnaissance; “Since You Ask”
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luthienne · 4 days ago
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Something is missing from me. And I can't. I can't.
Mahmoud Darwish, from Memory for Forgetfulness: August, Beirut, 1982 (tr. Ibrahim Muhawi)
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luthienne · 10 days ago
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Mary Ruefle, Trances of the Blast; “College”
text ID under cut:
And I, I would not go near the sea for nearly thirty years, I would not drink tea for another twenty, I would not undress, use pockets, read Walter Benjamin or listen to a bumblebee even if he bent the right wing of my scarlet runner, modeling myself after a woman who could only say one thing at a time, and found herself one day in hell, where she went casually and without purpose, having read every poem ever written, and finding not a single one even remotely sad enough.
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luthienne · 11 days ago
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the way what we remember of what happened / is just memory, not history exactly,
Carl Phillips, from Reconnaissance; “For Night to Fall”
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luthienne · 13 days ago
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Carl Phillips, from Reconnaissance; “The Length of the Field”
[Text ID: In the stories it’s different: grief, like the dark, lifts eventually— /end ID]
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luthienne · 13 days ago
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But what if all suffering is in fact for nothing— no particular wisdom after, blooming flower-like, blood in the water?
Carl Phillips, from Reconnaissance; “From a Land Called Near is Far”
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luthienne · 15 days ago
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Carl Phillips, from Reconnaissance; “Steeple”
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luthienne · 16 days ago
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I have countless kinds of death and I have only one grave
Adonis, from Selected Poems; “A Piece of Bahlul’s Sun” (tr. Khaled Mattawa)
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luthienne · 16 days ago
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Adonis, from Selected Poems; “A Piece of Bahlul’s Sun” (tr. Khaled Mattawa)
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luthienne · 17 days ago
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Adonis, from Selected Poems; “A Piece of Bahlul’s Sun” (tr. Khaled Mattawa)
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luthienne · 24 days ago
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Jeffrey Levine, from “The Slender Stream with its Singing Arms”
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luthienne · 25 days ago
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Jane Hirshfield, from Of Gravity & Angels; “Surrounded By All the Falling”
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luthienne · 26 days ago
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There are differing opinions about how kissing became criminal. / Who hasn't drunk, hasn't begged at the well of a lover's mouth? / Love has never been different from thirst, / but now everything is diffferent. All the cups / are filled with dirt—even our mouths.
Natalie Diaz, from Postcolonial Love Poem; “exhibits from The American Water Museum”
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luthienne · a month ago
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Adonis, from Selected Poems; “Body” (tr. Khaled Mattawa)
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