pakpoetics
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ayesha ★ poet ★ photographer ★ linktree
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— Ocean Vuong in conversation with Spencer Quong
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#poetry#my poetry#spilled ink#writing#my writing#ocean vuong#joan didion#words#my words#poetic#poem#poems
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rb to relieve the back pain of the person u reblogged this from
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I’m sorry to bother you, your blog is lovely and perhaps you could help me (but if you can’t or don’t want to it’s perfectly fine!). I’m turning 30 today and I feel a little lost. Late stage capitalism is a cruel thing; I’m jobless and I feel so far away from my goals, and scared for the state of the world. Do you have poem or prose for someone in my situation? Thank you so much!
first of all: happy belated birthday <3 i think you might really enjoy reading rebecca solnit's hope in the dark and maya angelou's letter to my daughter <3
Joanna Newsom, Esme
“And when you fail, and are defeated and in pain, and in the dark, then I hope you will remember that that darkness is your country, where you live, where no wars are fought and no wars are won, but where the future is. Our roots are in the dark; the earth is our country. Why did we look up for blessing – instead of around, and down? What hope we have lies there. Not in the sky full of orbiting spy-eyes and weaponry, but in the earth we have looked down upon. Not from above, but from below. Not in the light that blinds, but in the dark that nourishes, where human beings grow human souls.”
Ursula K. Le Guin, “A Left-Handed Commencement Address” (Mills College, 1983)
“…you feel that you are always in a state of waiting, expecting some event, not on the outside, but inside you, in your guts. it is a condition that could be called cloudiness. you do not know if you are in rain or in sunshine. and darkness no longer becomes darkness, but a climb toward the threshold of an internal light that is just about to glow. this is when it becomes possible to speak of the light of darkness as it would be possible to speak of the darkness of light.”
Adonis, from Selected Poems; “Candlelight” (tr. Khaled Mattawa)
“We talk so much of light, please let me speak on behalf of the good dark. Let us talk more of how dark the beginning of a day is.”
Maggie Smith, from “How Dark the Beginning”
"Hope locates itself in the premises that we don’t know what will happen and that in the spaciousness of uncertainty is room to act. When you recognize uncertainty, you recognize that you may be able to influence the outcomes—you alone or you in concert with a few dozen or several million others. Hope is an embrace of the unknown and the unknowable, an alternative to the certainty of both optimists and pessimists. Optimists think it will all be fine without our involvement; pessimists take the opposite position; both excuse themselves from acting. It’s the belief that what we do matters even though how and when it may matter, who and what it may impact, are not things we can know beforehand."
Rebecca Solnit, from her foreword to Hope in the Dark
more under cut:
"Accept the waiting, that you won’t always have a place in the chaos.
Accept the closed door, the wall ever-higher, the little hurdle, the image that sticks out its tongue.
Don’t climb backwards onto the shoulders of ghosts for it’s ridiculous to fall backwards with music in your soul."
Blanca Varela, from The Blinding Star; “Auvers-sur-Oise” (tr. Sara Daniele Rivera & Lisa Allen Ortiz)
[Original: Acepta la espera que no siempre hay lugar en el caos. Acepta la puerta cerrada, el mura cada vez más alto, el saltito, la imagen que te saca la lengua. No te trepes sobre los hombros de los fantasmas que es ridículo caerse de trasero with music in your soul.]
Lucille Clifton, from The Book of Light; “Night Vision”
“What can we do? Wait for spring, even if a tentative one, to arrive.”
Etel Adnan, from Paris, When It’s Naked
Rebecca Solnit, from Hope in the Dark
"The dehumanization resulting from an unjust order is not a cause for despair but for hope, leading to the incessant pursuit of the humanity denied by injustice. Hope, however, does not consist in crossing one’s arms and waiting. As long as I fight, I am moved by hope; and if I fight with hope, then I can wait. As the encounter of women and men seeking to be more fully human, dialogue cannot be carried on in a climate of hopelessness."
Paulo Freire, from Pedagogy of the Oppressed
Rebecca Solnit, from Hope in the Dark
"Hope locates itself in the premises that we don’t know what will happen and that in the spaciousness of uncertainty is room to act. When you recognize uncertainty, you recognize that you may be able to influence the outcomes—you alone or you in concert with a few dozen or several million others. Hope is an embrace of the unknown and the unknowable, an alternative to the certainty of both optimists and pessimists. Optimists think it will all be fine without our involve- ment; pessimists take the opposite position; both excuse themselves from acting. It’s the belief that what we do matters even though how and when it may matter, who and what it may impact, are not things we can know beforehand."
Rebecca Solnit, from her foreword to Hope in the Dark
Maya Angelou, from Letter to My Daughter
Mahmoud Darwish, from Memory for Forgetfulness: August, Beirut, 1982 (tr. Ibrahim Muhawi)
Adonis, excerpt of “The Banished,” in Selected Poems (tr. Khaled Mattawa)
Gregory Orr, In an Interview with Krista Tippett
Ross Gay, from The Book of Delights
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<33333
I might be overshooting a bit here but I think I'd be Gaudi's Casa Batllo. I love Gaudi's architecture so much and it's one of the main reasons I want to travel to Barcelona, the other being Spain's incredible libraries (I'd especially love to visit the reading room in the Spanish Senate in Madrid). This particular building looks so haunting ("House of Bones") but it's colorful and ethereal and ancient. Casa Batllo is like if the movie Coraline was a building, and the building was a person, that person would be me.
thank you so much for sharing this i am simply amazed ! and please, you're not overshooting ! your ideal form should appease you before anyone else <3
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“feminine urge” this and “masculine urge” that but what about the “mentally unstable urge” to buy an excessive amount of books and not read any of them
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December Prompts
1. your year in review
2. maiden
3. comforting
4. pink
5. elk
6. levitation
7. gas mask
8. what will they do to him
9. hot chocolate
10. moray eel
11. pajamas
12. survivor
13. baby girl
14. creek
15. milk
16. intruders
17. lost sibling
18. wretched
19. cold moon
20. puppy
21. body horror
22. memorable scent
23. hard journey
24. robbery
25. christ
26. antichrist
27. biscuits and tea
28. prince
29. revelation
30. history of the forest
31. prelude
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reblog to give the person you reblogged this from a sword
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From The Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson
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for anyone missing a loved one.
[Text: dawn of the gone too soon. morning in memory of the mortal rendered marble. the dew rises to spell out everything you were never allowed to touch – every unsmiled stretch of lips, every unbought wedding ring, every unfallen tear, every unkissed cheek. frost falls like your last breath did, condenses into the cold your skin was when it met the ground like an old friend. sanctity of the ghosts unrisen, the souls that found the peace we demanded for them. unholiness of forgetting the manner of shine of nine am sun in bright eyes you have not seen for years. damnation of the left-behind. the sun glimmers like faithless hope, hopeless faith, on the gravestones of the precious, it rises on your broken bones like it knows no other name or purpose. the hallelujah of celestial light in the early hours when only the birds are speaking. grief – mo(u)rning, permanent, evervescent, efferlasting; the moon departing every time you begin to suspect that this time, the vaulted arch of velvet night is locked in place.]
#poetry#writing#my poetry#my writing#spilled ink#words#my words#poet#poets#poets on tumblr#tumblr poetry#grief#sorrow#death#academia
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This fawn and bobcat were found in an office together, cuddling under a desk after a forest fire
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life really is just like. you meet people you love them and then you lose them and you never see them again. and it’s inevitable and it happens to everyone and there’s nothing you can do about it
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Ode to the Phase Between Death and Rebirth by Ayesha
[Text: November is but another name for settling, like the frost does in the grass, like the snow does in window sills, like how the fog finds its way into every crevice the sun cannot touch, promises that someone sees it too, in spite of the absence of light.
November carries a blanket of weathered wool, lets the cold bite of it envelope the place your wings were severed from.
It says, hush, child. Hush, I know. Your months of suffering have not gone unnoticed, I swear this to you as true as the sky is blue. But look, the geese have turned south. It is time you let your head down, too. Your neck must be weary of holding it so high, so proud and fixed in place by this cruel world’s unruly laws. Let the heat-risen, impossible
bruises leave your aching skin. I will ice them, even if I don’t carry no denouement. And she doesn’t. November doesn’t untie the knots in your plotline. She is just the precursor to hope.
This November, a timorous oath, enshrines new beginnings in the breeze on your lips. Stick your tongue out and taste it.]
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eat your feelings, sleep them away, walk your feelings, walk on them, literally nothing matters it's okay you're allowed to go a little crazy once in a while... you're not bad for eating too much or not wanting to do something... you're alright... you're very nice even... love u
#gonna take this as validation for going batshit in mids week#and still writing poems that are so soft#anyways#i know there aren't that many of you following me but those that are#follow aza too
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