"It’s none of their business that you have to learn to write. Let them think you were born that way." —Ernest Hemingway [x]
Tag: the last pavilion
writing: are you okay
Are you okay, she said to him. He was crouched in the bathroom with his fingers clamped over his wrist and his wrists pulled into his chest. She was next to him; she was so close to him that her hair kept brushing against his lips and his nose, but it was not romantic. He… Continue reading writing: are you okay
poem: what is this last breathe
What is this last breathe, like the song that was the first song she heard, when, crouched in the bushes she undid herself for the book in her hands, and the boy in her soul, who is now many miles away, who is now, slipping himself into pages, into the fainter spots between bleeding ink,… Continue reading poem: what is this last breathe
quote: i sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you
“It is a long way to Ireland, Janet, and I am sorry to send my little friend on such weary travels: but if I can't do better, how is it to be helped? Are you anything akin to me, do you think, Jane?" I could risk no sort of answer by this time: my heart… Continue reading quote: i sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you
poem: heathcliff
come out of hatred like a bloom and a dark peat bone rattling over grays and graves and the gravity of it because the lily is dead your soul is dead, flown away before ever cleansed I can kiss the heather over you but I find a caste where all the marble has drained… Continue reading poem: heathcliff
quote: nelly, i am heathcliff
“I cannot express it; but surely you and everybody have a notion that there is or should be an existence of yours beyond you. What were the use of my creation, if I were entirely contained here? My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliff's miseries, and I watched and felt each from the… Continue reading quote: nelly, i am heathcliff
writing: mostly, i am made of nothing
Mostly, I am made of nothing. There is a part in life when you realize that, ultimately, you have failed and what you're doing has no point. Religion, ambition--those things matter. But I was standing alone and thinking this and people were streaming past me, and I didn't see where the mattering came into contact… Continue reading writing: mostly, i am made of nothing
poem: come like death
come like death unto my sex—I would take your eyelash in my—stomach as the light heaves down over blue taunt hills as sheets well up in my—fingers like glass the cracking of your breath along my legs the cracking of my rosary on the hospital—floor fallen like a child’s fingernails— the fingernails dimpling— into my… Continue reading poem: come like death
quote: the book must be the axe
“I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound or stab us. If the book we're reading doesn't wake us up with a blow to the head, what are we reading for? So that it will make us happy, as you write? Good Lord, we would be happy precisely if we… Continue reading quote: the book must be the axe
first poem: the last pavilion
Even the cutting is in place and the lattice constrains her like a corset like white hands among white satin tying her hair up for the providence ball; and later, uglier hands untying the same ice curls for the providence music in the dark Still, she is the rose garden even with this music, even… Continue reading first poem: the last pavilion
