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Ars Poetica #100: I Believe
poetryfoundation.org
Sheep In Fog
The hills step off into whiteness.
People or stars
Regard me sadly, I disappoint them.
The train leaves a line of breath.
O slow
Horse the colour of rust,
Hooves, dolorous bells -
All morning the
Morning has been blackening,
A flower left out.
My bones hold a stillness, the far
Fields melt my heart.
They threaten
To let me through to a heaven
Starles
I sit, with all my theories, metaphors, and equations, Shakespeare and Milton, Barthes, Du Fu, and Homer, masters of death who can’t, at last, teach me how to touch my dead.
Ocean Vuong • On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous
Here is a man tallied – he realizes here what he has in him, The past, the future, majesty, love – if they are vacant of you, you are vacant of them.
Walt Whitman • The Complete Poems (Penguin Classics)
No one who likes Yeats is capable of human intimacy.
Sally Rooney • Conversations With Friends
Poetry
Katherine Bodner • 4 cards
