💨 ~~~ wild winds ~~~ wild water ~~~ 💨 [on a small stone outside my home]

The lilac I planted three years ago has bloomed

Anke Roder - Seafoam, Clouds & Wind 2025 panorama-mesdag.nl/en/see-and-d...

Florian Illies on the Monk By the Sea in "The Magic of Silence: Caspar David Friedrich's Journey Through Time": "God has lured him to the edge of this beach and left him alone; now the monk tempts us, would make him fall into his abyss, his maelstrom, with him." www.theguardian.com/artanddesign...

Thinking back on my visit to Pompeii — ruins, time, and poppies everywhere — I remembered a line from Tsvetaeva's Poem of the End "the dead have enough poppies"; remembered how beautiful this poem is, how it reads (in Russian) like a whiplash, a kiss, another whiplash. ruverses.com/marina-tsvet...

In this interview in the literary journal Parentheses, @susanlleary.bsky.social explores the process of writing through and about grief in her poetry collection, Dressing the Bear: www.parenthesesjournal.com/interviews-f...

Odilon Redon and van Gogh the other day in Rome at the Ara Pacis Museum ("Impressionismo e oltre. Capolavori dal Detroit Institute of Arts.")

Somewhere out there, there is light

"Hush, beloved. It doesn't matter to me how many summers I live to return: this one summer we have entered eternity. I felt your two hands bury me to release its splendor." (from The White Lilies, THE WILD IRIS) A bit late to this, but Happy birthday in eternity, Louise Gluck ❤️

Today: a walk along the so-called Rilke Trail, with Duino Castle in the distance; a place and space that whooshes and sighs, and whispers.

The only book I have with me on this trip. "For there is no place where we can remain."

Thinking about time and light in this painting by Rebecca Harp, while a sleepless night spent in a hotel threatens to annihilate the coming day in every possible way. Pink Window of Time by Rebecca Harp

#Music youtu.be/Tj149G4DKD8?...

Fascinating "‘ ... to *unexpress the expressible*, to kidnap from the world’s language, which is the poor and powerful language of the passions, another speech, an exact speech’ (Roland Barthes)."

Ma Yuan's studies of the properties of water, southern Song Dynasty China, ca. 1190 - 1225 CE 1

We the mortals touch the metals, the wind, the ocean shores, the stones, knowing they will go on, inert or burning, and I was discovering, naming all the these things: it was my destiny to love and say goodbye. Pablo Neruda, Still Another Day

"In the end—at our end—there is a pile of residue and memory over which others will visit and bargain and seek and moan. What will they find? What will they see of themselves in the dust of a life?" Arthur Miller in interview with James Grissom

Beautiful, beautiful poem by Ellen Bass ❤️

Polaroid Decay Color 600 film

"I am like the little anemone I once saw in the garden in Rome: it had opened so wide during the day that it could no longer close at night. It was terrifying to see it in the dark meadow, wide open, still taking everything in, into its calyx, [...] with the much too vast night above it."

what a resplendent image of the sensation of time: "for what is touch if not the accumulation of second upon second a succession of lullabies another time to which nothing can be given" @dreamsofbeing.bsky.social, _An Absence of Sea_

Mom sent me a postcard from my favorite place. So many fond memories. Silence, birch trees... Pierre-Jean Jouve echoes from afar, "For we are where we are not." (quoted in Gaston Bachelard's The Poetics of Space)

and comes April, "mixing memory and desire"

April is National Poetry Month in the US, so I invite you to visit one of my favorite poetry sites: Harvard's Woodberry Poetry Room, with its unparalleled collection of readings by English-language poets. You can listen to many of their recordings here: library.harvard.edu/sites/defaul...

Sam Rasnake, from Hands

An old one: Deluge

"..the trees are rustling, the wheels churning yellow, and the tumult of the present seems like an elegy for past youth and past summers, and there rose in her mind a curious sadness, as if time and eternity showed through skirts and waistcoats, and she saw people passing tragically to destruction."

💧 sea dream 💧

Morning conversation

Certain verses, fragments, from poems that stayed with me... A Celan, a Tsvetaeva, a Mandelstam, a Montale - I love you like poppies and memory - A kiss in the forehead erases memory, I give you a kiss - I am trained in the sciences of goodbyes - I am going to lose you again. And I can't

"And if we are to die tonight Is there a moonlight up ahead? And if we are to die tonight Another rose will bloom For a faded rose Will I be the one that you save? I love when it showers But no one puts flowers On a flower's grave" Tom Waits, Flower's Grave 🎶

in bloom

Thrilled to share that my new collection—Rare Good: Essays on Art, Autism, and Astonishment—is available for pre-order! It’s a book about belonging & becoming & finding our way together. I hope you will read it. ❤️ www.nebraskapress.unl.edu/nebraska/978...

Even in Quiet Places, William Stafford From far a light, maybe a hill ranch remote and unvisited, beams on the horizon when we pass; then it is gone. For the rest of our lives that far place waits; it’s an increment, one more hollow that slips by out there, almost a gift... #poetry #writer

Collage #1689 Saramago III

I love this essay by Jill Talbot. *I love everything Jill Talbot writes* sonorareview.com/2025/11/08/s...

Lives of others

"a line that arrived to me in a dream. A private admission, like the muffled song of two birds caught inside the tiny night garden of a drawer," ❤️

"We talk because we are mortal: / words are not signs, they are years." Octavio Paz, To Talk (tr. by Mark Strand) "Then there was a silence he had never before experienced: in it, you could hear the years." Pascal Mercier, Night Train to Lisbon (tr. by Barbara Harshav)

Every spring, with the appearance of the first shoots and flowers, with thoughts of beauty as a refuge and a wound, Louise Glück: "Why love what you will lose? / There is nothing else to love."

Mind-blowing

Bit by bit, everything in this wide realm becomes more like a dream. Oh, if only I were a tiny tree and stood on the bank of a little brook. -Robert Walser, translated by Kristofor Minta, from his wonderful <My Heart Has So Many Flaws>

Moving toward the spring light

“so we live here”

Victoria Chang, THE TREES WITNESS EVERYTHING

Oh February. To get ink and weep! To write of February, sob it out, While slush is blazing through the deep, Black spring and spreading on the ground. Boris Pasternak, February (tr. Andrey Kneller)

This Saturday, "Hug" by Kayoko Kimura, 2022

A return to long morning walks, the feeling of being able to breathe again, and Louise Glück: "Spring: the unforeseen / flooding the abyss. // And the life / filling again." (from Decade)

Dreamed of a place like the one in Marlen Haushofer's The Wall... I still think about that book.