Some memories feel vibrant, almost inhabited, while others, most, are like near-transparent overlays. - Sven Bikerts in The Common www.thecommononline.org/thirty-seven...

The dawns in Vuillard’s shadows. 🖤

New? diptych by Jaume Llorens, "Snow-covered mountains and the water of the lake" ❤️

Today's poem (Daily Poem) from the Paris Review, "The Man in the Room, after Rembrandt" by Mark Rudman

Faced with the unutterable, words still disintegrate . . . And ever new, out of the most quivering stones, music builds her divine house in useless space. -Rainer Maria Rilke (tr. A. Poulin, Jr.)

Winterscape with yarrow

the endless ground of your own deep pulse, Rainer Maria Rilke, tr. David Young

lost & found sorting through much older work to mix for a new project - so happy to discover some long lost memories

"How every apple is the poison apple. How rosy the skin. How sweet the flesh. How to suck the apple's poison is the one true meal, the invocation and the Last Supper." Diane Seuss, [Here on this edge I have had many diminutive visions.] poems.com/poem/here-on...

Life

We are celebrating the upcoming release of @susanlleary.bsky.social’s More Flowers by offering you a special deal! Get a copy of Dressing the Bear for 50% off with every order of My Flowers this January: triohousepress.myshopify.com/products/mor...

Louise Glück

The sea in a glass

Little robin, bones pinned to the cosmos. Who whistles? Who calls? Tomaž Šalamun

Maybe you want some poppies despite—

First light of the year and Carol Ann Duffy: "Time falls and falls through endless space, to when we are." (from New Year)

All frottage— www.alinastefanescuwriter.com/blog/2025/12...

Angel and hearts from my son. May 2026 be a gentler year for you. ❤️

Vale #Rilke #DOTD 1926– who wrote his own epitaph, which graces his tombstone even today: 𝙍𝒐𝙨𝒆, 𝙤𝒉 𝒓𝙚𝒊𝙣𝒆𝙧 𝙒𝒊𝙙𝒆𝙧𝒔𝙥𝒓𝙪𝒄𝙝, 𝑳𝙪𝒔𝙩, 𝑵𝙞𝒆𝙢𝒂𝙣𝒅𝙚𝒔 𝑺𝙘𝒉𝙡𝒂𝙛 𝙯𝒖 𝒔𝙚𝒊𝙣 𝙪𝒏𝙩𝒆𝙧 𝙨𝒐𝙫𝒊𝙚𝒍 𝑳𝙞𝒅𝙚𝒓𝙣. "Rose, o pure contradiction, desire to be no one's sleep beneath so many lids."

Marina Tsvetayeva in her essay "Your [Rilke's] Death": "Each death returns us into every other death. Each of the dead returns to us all who went before him, and returns us—to them. [...] Thus, from grave to grave—a round-robin warrant of our faithfulness to the dead. /

Another world inside this one

Winter light #icm #impressionism

From W.S. Merwin's The Solstice, THE RAIN IN THE TREES

Read my new translation and literary analysis of 𝑮𝙤𝒈𝙤𝒍 by 𝐓o𝐦a𝐬 𝐓r𝐚n𝐬t𝐫ö𝐦e𝐫, a haunting portrait of the Russian writer in a tribute that affirms the enduring awe one artist can feel toward another. hataaliinotes.substack.com/p/gogol #poetry #poetrycommunity #translation #Swedish #Transtromer

Remembering that fiery poppy from one of my summer walks, now that the days are mostly gloomy and gray. Poppy-eye, looking past you, for "I have / a lord in heaven / called the sun, and open / for him, showing him / the fire of my own heart" (Louise Glück)

‘Bachelard says an image can be “a giver of being”, “une donatrice d’être”. This is to suggest that the human mind and its images, in dreams as in the theory of relativity, are creators of each other. There is a form of liberation in this idea.’ Michael Wood: www.lrb.co.uk/the-paper/v4...

New greens from Alina ❤️ "The green that light picks out of a moonlit scene by the ocean, or a moment imagined by Ralph Waldo Emerson [...] : “ [...] An unnavigable sea washes with silent waves between us and the things we aim at and converse with.”"

Honoured to have a new poem out with the cosmic and beautiful @astrolabe.ooo! Huge thank you to editors Joel, Jae and Astrid for including my poem 'Elegy for a Grown World' in the Winter 2025 materialisation 'The Clepsydra' alongside so many luminous works 🌌 www.astrolabe.ooo/c-elegy-for-...

An old one, Blue Morning. I'm thinking about the morning light. The earth shifts and fractionally, each day, more light will wash over us, even in the depths of winter.

These were my suns today

Everything blue is made of distance

The pleasure in seeing memory through the failure of it. Of a place with a house in it. Of him watching as she walked straight through the field of dry, standing weeds to enter the sea. Linda Gregg (from Nine Years Later, IN THE MIDDLE DISTANCE)

His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead. James Joyce, Dubliners

Another iris

The free version of @susanlleary.bsky.social’s interview with Lili Gourley dropped today! View it here: open.substack.com/pub/triohous...

Rereading Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino on the night before my birthday. Cold rain, memories, and the feeling that I can wander around Isidora City until sleep overcomes me.

"Even before Newton named indigo, every lover knew the puddle of shadow they stand in to wait for the night." Traci Brimhall, in her poem Color Theory bigother.com/2025/11/12/s...

My memento vivere from yesterday's walk with my son

Emily Dickinson was born #onthisday in 1830. Celebrate with an exploration of her unusual manuscripts, including poems scribbled down on concert programmes and chocolate wrappers – offering a fascinating insight into how the poet worked: publicdomainreview.org/essay/t... #OTD

Autumn light #icm #impressionism #autumn #photography

Louise Glück 🖤

💐The countdown is on! 💐MORE FLOWERS releases with @triohousepress.org in less than 60 days, so thank you in advance for your patience with all my little reminders, and please consider pre-ordering at the link. I am super excited to share these poems! triohousepress.myshopify.com/products/mor...

I've been rereading The Wild Iris again...

My new album DNA CODE MUSIC is inspired by the human genetic code. The album transforms biological patterns into emotional compositions. Music performed by NeoQuartet Dance Zuzanna Kupidura RequiemRecords Listen on Bandcamp marzenamajcher.bandcamp.com/album/dna-co...

I am very fond of @907life.bsky.social Summer/Autumn/ Winter Light series. You want to see those.

Another morning with Rilke (and the unreachable) "It is as if whatever I truly receive falls too deeply into me, falls, falls for years and in the end I lack the strength to lift it out of me and I walk about fearfully with my heavily laden depths and never reach them."  To Lou Andreas-Salomé, 1903

Happy to have an essay from my forthcoming collection up @literaryhub.bsky.social today! "The time a library lends, I suspect, is a little like love: the more it gives away, the more comes back to it in kind."

(for ruth asawa)

Happy birthday in eternity, Rainer Maria Rilke "you have made the world. And it is huge and like a word which grows ripe in silence." (tr. by Edward Snow)