I keep on thinking.
If I sit here for long enough,
A line, one true line,
Will rise like some miraculous fish to the surface,
Brilliant and lithe in the late sunlight,
And offer itself into my hands.
I keep thinking that as the weeks go by,
and the waters never change
— Charles Wright, from “21,” Littlefoot: A Poem (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2007)Charles Wright — The Vale of Soul-Making
Two English Poems
The useless dawn finds me in a deserted street-
corner; I have outlived the night.
Nights are proud waves; darkblue topheavy waves
laden with all the hues of deep spoil, laden with
things unlikely and desirable.
Nights have a habit of mysterious gifts and refusals,
of things half given away, half withheld,
of joys with a dark hemisphere. Nights act
that way, I tell you.
Jorge Luis Borges — The Vale of Soul-Making
Every man, when he gets quiet, when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths. We all derive from the same source. there is no mystery about the origin of things. We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up, only to discover what is already there. — Henry Miller
via Henry Miller — The Vale of Soul-Making
It is very hard to live with silence. The real silence is death and this is terrible. To approach this silence, it is necessary to journey to the desert. You do not go to the desert to find identity, but to lose it, to lose your personality, to be anonymous. You make yourself void. You […]
via Edmond Jabès — The Vale of Soul-Making
Writing down your thoughts is both necessary and harmful. It leads to eccentricity, narcissism, preserves what should be let go. On the other hand, these notes intensify the inner life, which, left unexpressed, slips through your fingers. If only I could find a better kind of journal, humbler, one that would preserve the same thoughts, the same flesh of life, which is worth saving.
— Anna Kamieńska, from “In That Great River: A Notebook,” Poetry. Originally Published: June 1, 2010
via Anna Kamieńska — The Vale of Soul-Making
writing has been my fountain of youth my whore, my love, my gamble. The gods have spoiled me.
— Charles Bukowski, from “only one Cervantes,” The Last Night of the Earth Poems. (Ecco May 31, 2002
via Charles Bukowski — The Vale of Soul-Making