Lit Verve

"We must not confuse clarity of language with the clarity of a text. The former illumines on the..."

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 19:23:16 -0400

“We must not confuse clarity of language with the clarity of a text.
The former illumines on the surface, the latter within. Fluid borders.”

- Edmond Jabès, from The Book of Shares, trans. Rosmarie Waldrop

"The words the happy say Are paltry melody But those the silent feel Are beautiful—"

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 18:54:06 -0400

“The words the happy say
Are paltry melody
But those the silent feel
Are beautiful—”

- Emily Dickinson, “1750” (via)

Joerg Marx

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 17:57:16 -0400

Joerg Marx

"It was only the thin thread of a cloud, almost transparent, leading me along the way like an ancient..."

Sat, 15 Jun 2013 18:29:53 -0400

“It was only
the thin thread of a cloud,
almost transparent,
leading me along the way
like an ancient sacred song.”

- Yosano Akiko, from River of Stars, trans. Sam Hamill and Keiko Matsui Gibson

"The poet is someone who perceives that language, his language, the language he inherits…is in..."

Sat, 15 Jun 2013 18:03:10 -0400

“The poet is someone who perceives that language, his language, the language he inherits…is in danger of becoming a dead language again, and he therefore has the responsibility, a very grave responsibility, of waking it up, of resuscitating it…Each poem is a resurrection, but one that engages us to a vulnerable body, one that may be forgotten again.”

- Jacques Derrida, Sovereignties in Question: The Poetics of Paul Celan, trans. Thomas Dutoit and Philippe Romanski

Mark Reep, Home is the Sailor, Charcoal, Graphite

Sat, 15 Jun 2013 16:43:00 -0400

Mark Reep, Home is the Sailor, Charcoal, Graphite

"Things are not all so comprehensible and expressible as one would mostly have us believe; most..."

Fri, 14 Jun 2013 15:53:04 -0400

“Things are not all so comprehensible and expressible as one would mostly have us believe; most events are inexpressible, taking place in a realm which no word has ever entered, and more inexpressible than all else are works of art, mysterious existences, the life of which, while ours passes away, endures.”

- Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet: February 17, 1903, trans. M. D. Herter Norton

"Blame it or praise it, there is no denying the wild horse in us. To gallop intemperately; fall on..."

Thu, 13 Jun 2013 23:08:38 -0400

“Blame it or praise it, there is no denying the wild horse in us. To gallop intemperately; fall on the sand tired out; to feel the earth spin; to have — positively — a rush of friendship for stones and grasses, as if humanity were over, and as for men and women, let them go hang — there is no getting over the fact that this desire seizes us pretty often.”

- Virginia Woolf, Jacob’s Room

Michel Perrin

Thu, 13 Jun 2013 22:31:28 -0400

Michel Perrin

"A rough sound was polished until it became a smoother sound, which was polished until it became..."

Thu, 13 Jun 2013 21:48:16 -0400

“A rough sound was polished until it became a smoother sound, which was polished until it became music. Then the music was polished until it became the memory of a night in Venice when tears of the sea fell from the Bridge of Sighs, which in turn was polished until it ceased to be and in its place stood the empty home of a heart in trouble. Then suddenly there was sun and the music came back and traffic was moving and off in the distance, at the edge of the city, a long line of clouds appeared, and there was thunder, which, however menacing, would become music, and the memory of what happened after Venice would begin, and what happened after the home of the troubled heart broke in two would also begin.”

- Mark Strand, “The Everyday Enchantment of Music”

intrepid-android: Anton Rubinstein - 3 Pieces for Piano, Op....

Thu, 13 Jun 2013 01:06:49 -0400

intrepid-android:

Anton Rubinstein - 3 Pieces for Piano, Op. 71: No. 1. Nocturne in A-flat major

Fabio Grasso

"Writing is the same as music. It’s in how you phrase it, how you hold back the note, bend it, shape..."

Thu, 13 Jun 2013 00:40:34 -0400

“Writing is the same as music. It’s in how you phrase it, how you hold back the note, bend it, shape it, then release it. And what you don’t play is as important as what you do say.”

- Robert Creeley, via

Gustav Klimt, Music, 1895

Thu, 13 Jun 2013 00:35:33 -0400

Gustav Klimt, Music, 1895

"How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives."

Wed, 12 Jun 2013 02:37:33 -0400

“How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.”

- Annie Dillard, from “The Writing Life” (with thanks to weissewiese)

"….for the night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man; and in her starry..."

Wed, 12 Jun 2013 00:10:53 -0400

“….for the night
Hath been to me a more familiar face
Than that of man; and in her starry shade
Of dim and solitary loveliness,
I learn’d the language of another world.”

- Lord Byron, from “Manfred”

Robert Kipniss, Evening, 1982, Mezzotint

Tue, 11 Jun 2013 23:58:50 -0400

Robert Kipniss, Evening, 1982, Mezzotint

"I hear that they call life our only refuge."

Tue, 11 Jun 2013 23:31:17 -0400

“I hear that they call life
our only refuge.”

- Paul Celan, from “I hear that the axe has flowered”, trans. Michael Hamburger

"Great poetry does not teach us anything – it changes us. Man is like a musical instrument of many..."

Mon, 10 Jun 2013 21:15:33 -0400

“Great poetry does not teach us anything – it changes us. Man is like a musical instrument of many strings, of which only a few are sounded by the narrow interests of his daily life; and the others, for want of use, are continually becoming tuneless and forgotten. Heroic poetry is a phantom finger swept over all the strings, arousing from man’s whole nature a song of answering harmony. It is the poetry of action, for such alone can arouse the whole nature of man. It touches all the strings – those of wonder and pity, of fear and joy. It ignores morals, for its business is not in any way to make us rules for life, but to make character. It is not, as a great English writer has said, ‘a criticism of life’, but rather a fire in the spirit, burning away what is mean and deepening what is shallow.”

- W. B. Yeats, from “Irish Poets and Irish Poetry” in The Irish Fireside, October 9, 1886

Stefan Caltia, Poet With Flower, 2008

Mon, 10 Jun 2013 20:06:32 -0400

Stefan Caltia, Poet With Flower, 2008

"But in the mud and scum of things There alway, alway something sings."

Mon, 10 Jun 2013 00:47:46 -0400

“But in the mud and scum of things
There alway, alway something sings.”

- Ralph Waldo Emerson, from “Music”