julietohara reblogged
― Ada Limón, Sharks in the Rivers
[text ID: … dearest, can you / tell, I am trying / to love you less.]
julietohara reblogged
Tsunao Aida, tr. by Edith Marcombe Shiffert & Yūki Sawa, from Anthology of Modern Japanese Poetry; “Legend”
julietohara reblogged
carpethedamndiem
- Mary Oliver, "Don't Hesitate" from Devotions
julietohara reblogged
Anonymous asked:
for request, may I ask for something with the theme "devotion as violence?"
@achillics, vulnerability
Joan Tierney (x)
Richard Siken, Wishbone
Ada Limón, The Good Fight
José Olivarez, I WAKE IN A FIELD OF WOLVES WITH THE MOON
Lady Gaga, Judas
@bipeds (x)
Tom Lehrer, The Masochism Tango
Yves Olade, When Rome Falls
Florence + The Machine, Kiss With a Fist
Schuyler Peck, Horoscope for the Heartbroken
Venetta Octavia, I Set It in Stone
@heavensghost, Dead Girls Don’t Lie
Richard Siken, Snow and Dirty Rain
Dead Girl Walking, from Heathers: The Musical
Terrence Hayes, American Sonnets for My Past and Future Assassin
Richard Siken, Primer for the Small Weird Loves
Margaret Atwood, We are hard
julietohara reblogged
Jenny Slate, Little Weirds
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Margaret Atwood, from “There Are Better Ways of Doing This”
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Mary Oliver, from “I Worried”, Devotions
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1. The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
2. I Always Knew - the Vaccines
3. Emma - Jane Austen
4. You Are Jeff - Richard Siken
5. The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
6. Wishbone - Richard Siken
7. Littany is Which Certian Things Are Crossed Out - Richard Siken
8. She - Dodie
9. Futile Devices - Sufjan Stevens
julietohara reblogged
Richard Siken Scheherazade
I’ve been using poems and songs as exercises to experiment with visual poetry techniques. This is one of my favorite poems. Do you have any poems you would recommend I try out?
julietohara reblogged
lightcasts-deactivated20200108
richard siken, the torn-up road
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philip larkin, ‘the mower’, first published in humberside (1979)
julietohara reblogged
I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you” when someone sneezes, a leftover from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying. And sometimes, when you spill lemons from your grocery bag, someone else will help you pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other. We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot, and to say thank you to to the person holding it. To smile at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder, and for the driver in the red pick-up to let us pass. We have so little of each other, now. So far from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange. What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here, have my seat,” “Go ahead - you first,” “I like your hat.”
- Danusha Laméris, “Small Kindnesses"
julietohara reblogged
“You said if people wanted to change the world, they would. You said most people like it this way. Too bad for them, I say. I want something else. But you know how I am. I push too hard. I get ahead of myself. I keep ruining everything I touch by turning it into gold. But I’m learning how to be gentle. Even to the vampires, poor little things. Save me save me love me love me there’s a hole in my bucket etcetera. They don’t know what they want but I give it to them anyway because why the hell not? Love, love, go ahead and have another plate of it, it doesn’t run out.”
— Richard Siken, Editor’s Pages: The Long and Short of It
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anne carson
julietohara reblogged
¿Qué es un fantasma? Un evento terrible condenado a repetirse una y otra vez, un instante de dolor, quizá algo muerto que parece por momentos vivo aún, un sentimiento suspendido en el tiempo, como una fotografía borrosa, como un insecto atrapado en ámbar.
Guillermo del Toro, El Espinazo del Diablo
Translation: What is a ghost? A tragedy condemned to repeat itself time and time again? An instant of pain perhaps. Something dead which still seems to be alive. An emotion suspended in time like a blurred photograph, like an insect trapped in amber.
(via jameshobart)
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violentwavesofemotion-deactivat
Vicente Huidobro, tr. by Ian Barnett, from The Arctic Poems; “Vermouth,”
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“My mouth became a churchyard. I carved gravestones for everything I should have said / but did not dare to.”
— Elisabeth Hewer, extract from upcoming poem “Village Green”