“The poem in which the reader does not feel himself or herself a participant is a lecture, listened to from an uncomfortable chair, in a stuffy room, inside a building.”
― Winter Hours: Prose, Prose Poems, and Poems
― Winter Hours: Prose, Prose Poems, and Poems
“At present I absolutely want to paint a starry sky. It often seems to me that night is still more richly coloured than the day; having hues of the most intense violets, blues and greens. If only you pay attention to it you will see that certain stars are lemon-yellow, others pink or a green, blue and forget-me-not brilliance. And without my expatiating on this theme it is obvious that putting little white dots on the blue-black is not enough to paint a starry sky.”
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“Unforgiveness,
splinter in your breastbone, lives
there lodged like a small tree.
Withers in winter, looms
in spring. Its fruit is sweet
on first bite, then turns
into the taste of your own flesh.”
― The Porcupine of Mind
splinter in your breastbone, lives
there lodged like a small tree.
Withers in winter, looms
in spring. Its fruit is sweet
on first bite, then turns
into the taste of your own flesh.”
― The Porcupine of Mind
Carole’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at Carole’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
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