poetryweblog
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Literary links linger'd over by a poet....

Saturday, October 18, 2003
"Today my poems seem only the spells I muttered while waiting for poems." --Hayden Carruth


posted by Celia Saturday, October 18, 2003
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Friday, October 17, 2003
"The original crime: art, rime." --John Berryman


posted by Celia Friday, October 17, 2003
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Thursday, October 16, 2003
"The secret title of every good poem might be 'Tenderness'." --Galway Kinnell


posted by Celia Thursday, October 16, 2003
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Wednesday, October 15, 2003
Of course, to be a poet is to be naked. --Kelly Cherry


posted by Celia Wednesday, October 15, 2003
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Tuesday, October 14, 2003
From Awakening Osiris, The Egyptian Book of the Dead, translated by Normandi Ellis


The ibis and the ink pot--these are blessed. For as the ibis pecks along the bank for a bit of food, so the scribe searches among his thoughts for some truth to tell. All the work is his to speak, its secrets writ down in his heart from the beginning of time, the gods' words rising upward through his dark belly, seeking light at the edge of his throat...

Hear, then, my words, the ringing of my speech, as the heart and the scroll of this life fall open. Truth is the harvest scythe.


posted by Celia Tuesday, October 14, 2003
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Monday, October 13, 2003
After Tu Fu (They Say You're Staying in a Mountain Temple), by Marvin Bell

In the damp evenings of summertime,
I cannot trust my words to reach you.
They drink up every nuance shamelessly.
They are more ravenous than my mouth calling.

In the crusty air of wintertime,
I cannot trust my words to go to you.
They see too well the leafless trees.
They know too well the outcome of love.

In the steady dying of autumn times,
there I know that my words will touch you.
Fall is the shadow season, when we meet
on the other side of the clouds.


posted by Celia Monday, October 13, 2003
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