" Avoidance "

1 month ago with 542 notes, via fuckyeahexistentialism, from heteroglossia

Forget the suffering
You caused others.
Forget the suffering
Others caused you.
The waters run and run,
Springs sparkle and are done,
You walk the earth you are forgetting.

Sometimes you hear a distant refrain.
What does it mean, you ask, who is singing?
A childlike sun grows warm.
A grandson and a great-grandson are born.
You are led by the hand once again.

The names of the rivers remain with you.
How endless those rivers seem!
Your fields lie fallow,
The city towers are not as they were.
You stand at the threshold mute.

Czeslaw Milosz, “Forget” (via heteroglossia)


2 months ago with 6,504 notes, via fuckyeahexistentialism, from rumiswisdom
I choose to love you in silence…
For in silence I find no rejection,

I choose to love you in loneliness…
For in loneliness no one owns you but me,

I choose to adore you from a distance…
For distance will shield me from pain,

I choose to kiss you in the wind…
For the wind is gentler than my lips,

I choose to hold you in my dreams…
For in my dreams, you have no end.
Rumi  (via mrsfscottfitzgerald)

(Source: rumiswisdom)



5 months ago with 4 notes
Bury in order the snowmelt
and the spring night,

and somewhere in the next world
water drops fall from the eaves

while at the very edge of your faraway
lips, now the whole universe collapses
Night at Tonghak Temple
park chaesam, trans. jiwon shin


6 months ago with 0 notes
The Last Lie by Bruce Weigl

Some guy in the miserable convoy
raised up in the back of our open truck
and threw a can of C rations at a child
who called into the rumble for food.
He didn’t toss the can, he wound up and hung it
on the child’s forehead and she was stunned
backwards into the dust of our trucks.

Across the sudden angle of the road’s curving
I could still see her when she rose,
waving one hand across her swollen, bleeding head,
wildly swinging her other hand
at the children who mobbed her,
who tried to take her food.

I grit my teeth to myself to remember that girl
smiling as she fought off her brothers and sisters.
She laughed
as if she thought it were a joke
and the guy with me laughed
and fingered the edge of another can
like it was the seam of a baseball
until his rage ripped
again into the faces of children
who called to us for food.



6 months ago with 1 note, via literatureisboss, from literatureisboss
At the Makeshift Aid Station by Toge Sankichi

You girls—
weeping even though there is no place
for your tears to come from;
crying out even though you have no lips to shape the words;
struggling even though you have no skin
on your fingers to grasp anything with—
you girls.

Your limbs twitch, oozing blood and greasy sweat and lymph;
your eyes, puffed to slits, glitter whitely;
only the elastic bands of your panties hold in
your swollen bellies;
you are wholly beyond shame even though your private parts
are exposed:
who could think
that a little while ago
you all were pretty schoolgirls?

Emerging from the flames flickering gloomily
in burned-out Hiroshima
no longer yourselves,
you rushed out, crawled out one after the other,
struggled along to this grassy spot,
in agony laid your heads, bald but for a few wisps of hair.
on the ground.

Why must you suffer like this?
Why must you suffer like this?
For what reason?
For what reason?
You girls
don’t know
how desperate your condition,
how far you have been transformed from the human.

You are simply thinking,
thinking
of those who until this morning
were your fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters
(would any of them know you now?)
and of the homes in which you slept, woke, ate
(in that instant the blossoms in the hedge were torn off;
now even their ashes are not to be found)

thinking, thinking—
as you lie there among friends who one after the other
stop moving—
thinking
of when you were girls,
human beings.



7 months ago with 8 notes, via be-happy-kid, from be-happy-kid

I wrap my bones around my head
Speak through the holes

It sounds like math
is rounding the curves

or a mouth is light years
ahead of words.

"About Face" Fanny Howe (via be-happy-kid)


7 months ago with 5,431 notes, via mashamorevna, from violentwavesofemotion
The night isn’t dark; the world is dark.
Stay with me a little longer.
Louise Glück, from Departure (via violentwavesofemotion)


7 months ago with 2 notes
Maybe the dead know, their eyes widening at last,

Seeing the high beams of a million galaxies flick on

At twilight. Hearing the engines flare, the horns

Not letting up, the frenzy of being. I want to be

One notch below bedlam, like a radio without a dial.

Wide open, so everything floods in at once.

And sealed tight, so nothing escapes. Not even time,

Which should curl in on itself and loop around like smoke.

So that I might be sitting now beside my father

As he raises a lit match to the bowl of his pipe

For the first time in the winter of 1959.
excerpt from the poem My God, It’s Full of Stars by Tracy K Smith.


7 months ago with 0 notes
Remember/ When you speak of our failings/ The dark time too/ Which you have escaped.
from die Nachgeborenen, Bertolt Brecht


8 months ago with 17 notes, via scorpiusblack, from griffinking
tomvorlostriddle:

literature meme • 2/9 poems • belsazar (belshazzar) by heinrich heine

His face is flushed, his cheeks aglow,The wine it makes his courage grow. He boasts and blasphemes against the Lord,To the roaring cheers of his servile horde. And the King he seizes with hand of sinA sacred vessel filled to the brim. And he drains it hastily, drains it dry,And with foaming mouth they hear him cry: 'Jehovah, your power is past and gone —I am the King of Babylon.’Before the sun could rise again,Belshazzar by his men was slain.

read the full poem (either german or english) here or check this version out!

tomvorlostriddle:

literature meme • 2/9 poems • belsazar (belshazzar) by heinrich heine

His face is flushed, his cheeks aglow,
The wine it makes his courage grow.
He boasts and blasphemes against the Lord,

To the roaring cheers of his servile horde.
And the King he seizes with hand of sin
A sacred vessel filled to the brim.
And he drains it hastily, drains it dry,
And with foaming mouth they hear him cry:
'Jehovah, your power is past and gone —
I am the King of Babylon.’
Before the sun could rise again,
Belshazzar by his men was slain.

read the full poem (either german or english) here 
or check this version out!

(Source: griffinking)



8 months ago with 2 notes
We’re
alive and shall be: cities may overflow (am
was) assassinating whole grassblades, five
ideas can swallow a man;three words im
-prison a woman for all her now: but we’ve
such freedom such intense digestion so
much greenness only dying makes us grow.
E.E. Cummings, from am was. are leaves few this. is these a or


9 months ago with 77 notes
literature meme | 5/5 poets | Langston Hughes

In Hughes’s own words, his poetry is about “workers, roustabouts, and singers, and job hunters on Lenox Avenue in New York, or Seventh Street in Washington or South State in Chicago—people up today and down tomorrow, working this week and fired the next, beaten and baffled, but determined not to be wholly beaten, buying furniture on the installment plan, filling the house with roomers to help pay the rent, hoping to get a new suit for Easter—and pawning that suit before the Fourth of July.”Although Hughes had trouble with both black and white critics, he was the first black American to earn his living solely from his writing and public lectures. Part of the reason he was able to do this was the phenomenal acceptance and love he received from average black people. A reviewer for Black World noted in 1970: “Those whose prerogative it is to determine the rank of writers have never rated him highly, but if the weight of public response is any gauge then Langston Hughes stands at the apex of literary relevance among Black people. The poet occupies such a position in the memory of his people precisely because he recognized that ‘we possess within ourselves a great reservoir of physical and spiritual strength,’ and because he used his artistry to reflect this back to the people. He used his poetry and prose to illustrate that ‘there is no lack within the Negro people of beauty, strength and power,’ and he chose to do so on their own level, on their own terms.”      (via the poetry foundation)

literature meme 5/5 poets Langston Hughes

In Hughes’s own words, his poetry is about “workers, roustabouts, and singers, and job hunters on Lenox Avenue in New York, or Seventh Street in Washington or South State in Chicago—people up today and down tomorrow, working this week and fired the next, beaten and baffled, but determined not to be wholly beaten, buying furniture on the installment plan, filling the house with roomers to help pay the rent, hoping to get a new suit for Easter—and pawning that suit before the Fourth of July.”

Although Hughes had trouble with both black and white critics, he was the first black American to earn his living solely from his writing and public lectures. Part of the reason he was able to do this was the phenomenal acceptance and love he received from average black people. A reviewer for Black World noted in 1970: “Those whose prerogative it is to determine the rank of writers have never rated him highly, but if the weight of public response is any gauge then Langston Hughes stands at the apex of literary relevance among Black people. The poet occupies such a position in the memory of his people precisely because he recognized that ‘we possess within ourselves a great reservoir of physical and spiritual strength,’ and because he used his artistry to reflect this back to the people. He used his poetry and prose to illustrate that ‘there is no lack within the Negro people of beauty, strength and power,’ and he chose to do so on their own level, on their own terms.”      (via the poetry foundation)