These fragments I have shored against my ruins. -T.S. Eliot

These fragments I have shored against my ruins.  -T.S. Eliot

Tuesday, June 10, 2014

The language of the road






















"The ocean ends, like life and vision, at a horizon that is the fault of the curvature of eye and earth, with no proof of true end at all." -Dan Beachy-Quick, A Whaler’s Dictionary

Image: Found, Marble paper 
Title: from Mohammed Bennis’s Seven Birds

Sunday, June 1, 2014

A Word


























I used to think when I turned thirty I would become a writer.
Thirty passed.
I wrote here then, daily. Poems. Essays. Words like leaves on a page curling, turning over in the wind.
I wrote before that, too. Decades before: shelves, walls, boxes of words.
I didn't know what blogger meant. Monetize, followers, trolls.
And then erasure happened.
It swept.
My knees became my feet, my eyes like the closing flowers, unseen.


I have dwelt in caves dripping.
Time has passed. The sun is higher.
I write.
I want you to know I am still writing.
Yes, my answer will always be yes,

I am writing.


Image: John Bridges, Embrace
Text: Terresa Wellborn

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

Still unknowing, unwise


























   "…Wondered what to do; even, how to do anything at all."
  -Stanley Crawford, Log of the S.S. the Mrs Unguentine

Image: Rodney Smith
Title: Stanley Crawford

Monday, April 28, 2014

How Far is Far?


























    In the novel or the journal you get the journey. In a poem you get the arrival.
  -May Sarton

  Image: Richard Avedon, 1968
  Title: From a book by Alvin Tresselt and Ward Brackett

Saturday, April 19, 2014

My Own Desert Places




















     "For the desert is simply that:… an ecstatic form of disappearance."
  -Jean Baudrillard

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   "You don’t need me. What you really need is a mirror. Because any stranger is for you simply a mirror in which to reflect yourself. I don’t ever again want to return to such a desert of mirrors."
-Kōbō Abe

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You are there
for an instant Blue desert
with dunes of rain Thirst is granted
Space is a breach You burn in the night
whose walls are down I see by your oil
by the wick in the middle where a flame blossoms
-Edmond Jabès, excerpt from “After the Deluge,” If There Were Anywhere but Desert: The Selected Poems of Edmond Jabès
Image: Max Scheler, Art Class for Retired Ctizens, Sun Valley, Arizona, 1962
Title: Robert Frost, “Desert Places”