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the journey of words

North Myrtle Beach - Black-n-white by char1iej on Flickr.

North Myrtle Beach - Black-n-white by char1iej on Flickr.

allhehearisbirds
I really do think that art can save you in some sense. It’s the last meaning, unless you’re religious—and I’m not religious. It’s the only secular vehicle for transcendence we have. It’s an immediate self-validating experience. It lifts you beyond your mortal clay.

— Sam Savage, Poets & Writers Sept/Oct 2011 

(via apoetreflects)

halogenation
People’s memories are maybe the fuel they burn to stay alive.

— Haruki Murakami, Afterdark. Knopf, 2004

(via distancenouveau)

bluesonplanetmars

This siege will extend until we teach our enemies
paradigms of our Jahili poetry
*
The sky is leaden at twilight
orange at night. As for the hearts
they’ve remained neutral like fence flowers
*
In siege, life becomes the time
between remembering life’s beginning
and forgetting it end…
 
—Mahmoud Darwish, from “A State of Siege” (tr. by Fady Joudah), in The Butterfly’s Burden. Copper Canyon Press, 2006

we walk to our tomorrow certain
of the sun in our yesterday.

—Mahmoud Darwish, from section F, “The Damascene Collar of the Dove” (tr. by Fady Joudah), in The Butterfly’s Burden. Copper Canyon Press, 2006

Talk to her as a flute talks
To a frightened violin string
As if you two were witnesses to what tomorrow prepares for you
And wait for her

—Mahmoud Darwish, from “A Lesson from Kama Sutra” (tr. by Fady Joudah), in The Butterfly’s Burden. Copper Canyon Press, 2006

                                       When she wasn’t
present as body she was the soul’s image
in everything. Drawing me closer
to the orbits of planets. Distancing me from life
on earth.

—Mahmoud Darwish, from “A Mask … For Majnoon Laila” (tr. by Fady Joudah), in The Butterfly’s Burden. Copper Canyon Press, 2006

literarymiscellany
Sometimes we have to hold hands with our own nightmares.
When I tell you that the voice of the nightingale turns dark
you have to understand what this love is trying to overcome,
you have to know that if you ever leave, if you ever disappear,
the sky would rip, and the stars would lose their way.

Richard Jackson, from“Night Sky,” Resonance: Poems (The Ashland Poetry Press, 2010)

viruji
El Sardinero.

El Sardinero.

(via terrenonussbukorrek)