Writers are forgetful,
but they remember everything.
They forget appointments and anniversaries,
but remember what you wore,
how you smelled,
on your first date…
They remember every story you’ve ever told them -
like ever,
but forget what you’ve just said.
They don’t remember to water the plants
or take out the trash,
but they don’t forget how
to make you laugh.
Writers are forgetful
because
they’re busy
remembering
the important things.
(via coolwhip)
Song of the Wrong Response
The poem is bare-chested, black and
shadowboxing beneath a streetlight.
In the rest of the city it is dark.
You’re out walking your dog. Nervously,
you circle the poem. It turns toward you
and speaks of a disease of the heart,
perhaps anger. You can’t make out the words.
Never have you seen a face so ugly. Then
it steps toward you and swings. You jump.
Still, it strikes you once above the heart.
On the sidewalk your dog is asleep. The poem
returns to shadowboxing. You are that exciting.
Once home, you phone the proper authorities.
Then I arrive and you describe the attack.
All next day you look at mug shots before finding
the right picture; a young man with some flowers.
This, I say, is a poem about love and
the difficulties of friendship. It is about
reaching out in dark places. The poem
touched you above the heart and you fled.
What happened in fact, you have forgotten.
What happened in memory will repeat istelf and
each time you will act falsely and be afraid.—Stephen Dobyns, from Velocities: New and Selected Poems 1966-1992 (Penguin Books, 1994)
Ernst Ludwig Kirchner, The Drinker (Self-Portrait)
Accept what comes from silence.
Make the best you can of it.
Of the little words that come
out of the silence, like prayers
prayed back to the one who prays,
make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came.—Wendell Berry, last strophe to “How to be a Poet (to remind myself)” from New Collected Poems (Counter Point Press, 2012)
I’ll fascinate you for awhile
My hands in wait to please, so well
When I wake to realize, all I’d done
I’ll be breaking strings
And all you’re gonna feel
Is undone
I will not stay if you ask me to stay
Do not ask me to stay because I will not stay
Why do we always collide
Stuck on two different sides
No resignation, don’t simplify
Its not always about
Your love
What I wake up to find
All I’ve done is unkind
All you’re gonna feel is untied
Untied
Why do we always collide
Stuck on two different sides
Why do we always collide
Stuck on two different sides
Why do we always collide
Stuck on two different sides
Why do we all
Why do we all
The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others (Gandhi) (by Stéphane Barbery)
(via huong1952)
