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“The days are nouns: touch them
The hands are churches that worship the world”
― Words Under the Words: Selected Poems
The hands are churches that worship the world”
― Words Under the Words: Selected Poems
“We need poetry as living language, the core of every language, something that is still spoken, aloud or in the mind, muttered in secret, subversive, reaching around corners, crumpled into a pocket, performed to a community, read aloud to the dying, recited by heart, scratched or sprayed on a wall. That kind of language.”
― The Best American Poetry 1996
― The Best American Poetry 1996
“The grief you cry out from
draws you toward union.
Your pure sadness
that wants help
is the secret cup.”
―
draws you toward union.
Your pure sadness
that wants help
is the secret cup.”
―
“Concerning Some Recent Criticism of His Work
—Glaze and shimmer,
luster and gleam;
can’t he think of anything
but all that sheen?
—No such thing,
the queen said,
as too many sequins.”
― Sweet Machine
—Glaze and shimmer,
luster and gleam;
can’t he think of anything
but all that sheen?
—No such thing,
the queen said,
as too many sequins.”
― Sweet Machine
“The Fire
When a human is asked about a particular fire,
she comes close:
then it is too hot,
so she turns her face—
and that’s when the forest of her bearable life appears,
always on the other side of the fire. The fire
she’s been asked to tell the story of,
she has to turn from it, so the story you hear
is that of pines and twitching leaves
and how her body is like neither—
all the while there is a fire
at her back
which she feels in fine detail,
as if the flame were a dremel
and her back its etching glass.
You will not know all about the fire
simply because you asked.
When she speaks of the forest
this is what she is teaching you,
you who thought you were her master.”
― Blood Lyrics: Poems
When a human is asked about a particular fire,
she comes close:
then it is too hot,
so she turns her face—
and that’s when the forest of her bearable life appears,
always on the other side of the fire. The fire
she’s been asked to tell the story of,
she has to turn from it, so the story you hear
is that of pines and twitching leaves
and how her body is like neither—
all the while there is a fire
at her back
which she feels in fine detail,
as if the flame were a dremel
and her back its etching glass.
You will not know all about the fire
simply because you asked.
When she speaks of the forest
this is what she is teaching you,
you who thought you were her master.”
― Blood Lyrics: Poems
H’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at H’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
1,098 books
|
611 friends
922 books
|
89 friends
468 books
|
1,856 friends
125 books
|
2,787 friends
1,208 books
|
98 friends
1,748 books
|
70 friends
3,071 books
|
1,791 friends
5,041 books
|
1,114 friends
More friends…
Favorite Genres
Polls voted on by H
Lists liked by H
