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Wild Geese
by Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
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Novalis, Heinrich von Ofterdingen: A Romance
[originally published 1802]
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。 ☆ 。 ☆。 ☆
☆。 ＼ ｜ ／。 ☆
finger me while
we’re making out
☆。 ／ ｜ ＼。 ☆
。 ☆。 。 ☆。
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Jeremy Radin, from "Lazar Wolf the Butcher" (poem written during staging of Fiddler on the Roof at Paper Mill Playhouse, shared on his IG page) [ID'd]
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“She was tied to the moon by long threads of red tangled blood. She moved like a woman tied to the moon … it enveloped her and it opened her to an absolute night without dawn.”
— Anaïs Nin (via earth-cult)
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Where Does the Temple Begin, Where Does It End?
Mary Oliver
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Stanotte avevo composto per te una lettera bellissima, nelle ore insonni, piene di incubi, ma è tutta sparita: mi manchi e basta, in un modo piuttosto semplice, disperato, umano.
Vita Sackville-West, lettera a Virginia Woolf
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this is how it was always going to be. you know this. you've always known. you wrote the script.
[what resembles the grave but isn't, anne boyer || lazarus rising, supernatural || I didn't apologize to the well, mahmoud darwish (trans. fady joudah) || unknown || grief lessons: four plays by euripides, anne carson || carry on, supernatural || the truth about grief, fortesa latifi || anecdote of the pig, tory adkisson || aeschylus: the oresteia, aeschylus || @/heavensghost]
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Richard Siken, "The Torn-up Road" // Lora Mathis, "If There's A Way Out I'll Take It"
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Io non so perdonare.
Né perdonare né dimenticare.
È uno dei miei più grandi limiti forse,
e il più lugubre. E meno che mai so
perdonare quando una ferita mi è stata
inferta da persone dalle quali mi
aspettavo affetto, tenerezza, o sulle
quali mi facevo illusioni positive.
Non v'è uomo o donna colpevole verso
di me che non sia finito nella
Siberia dei miei sentimenti.
Oriana Fallaci
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