Extraído de Alastair Reid, Weathering : poems and translations, New York : Dutton, 1978, p. 124 – – Poem Written in a Copy of Beowulf At various times I have asked myself what reasons moved me to study while my night came down, without particular hope of satisfaction, the language of the blunt-tongued Anglo-Saxons. Used […]
“Poem Written in a Copy of Beowulf”: Jorge Luis Borges translated by Alastair Reid — Buenos Aires Poetry
End of August. Heat like a tent over John’s garden. And some things have the nerve to be getting started, clusters of tomatoes, stands of late lilies—optimism of the great stalks—imperial gold and silver: but why start anything so close to the end? Tomatoes that will never ripen, lilies winter will kill, that won’t come back in spring. Or are you thinking I spend too much time looking ahead, like an […]
vespers [end of august] :: louise glück — poetry
It’s Not About the Art
— Read on poetscornerblog.wordpress.com/2019/04/09/its-not-about-the-art/
She is no longer the bird she once was, the one that flew high to Tibet, alone; the one that made circles around Lake Namtso, the mirror of heaven; the one that laughed until out of breath. Instead, she became a tree. She can’t move her own nest — Liu Xiaobo can’t move, so she […]
via Liao Yiwu: Introduction to Liu Xia’s collection EMPTY CHAIRS (Graywolf Press, 2015) — Kanlaon
Almost everything will work again if you Unplug it for a few minutes… Including you. – Ann Lamott Unplug…. even if only for a few minutes. Cheers & Hugs, Jodi
