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Today in a beam of sun
the baby’s eyelashes had gold in them
and closed down on his cheek. Madonna by Lindsay Turner, excerpt
Go to homepageHuman in the LoopJonathan Harrell’s Commonplace Book
Go to homepageToday in a beam of sun
the baby’s eyelashes had gold in them
and closed down on his cheek. Madonna by Lindsay Turner, excerpt
Heed the tearful beckoning of weaving merfolk,
heed the breath of falling tree leaves!
Wind seeps into every vein and artery,
eavesdropping on the heart as it withers and breaks. Autumn Night Reflections by Dai Wangshu, translated from the Chinese by Yilin Wang, excerpt
We’re all pretty bizarre. Some of us are just better at hiding it, that’s all. The Breakfast Club
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Are dreams
taking their seats
on the night train? […]
All children are poets
until they stop reaching for
butterflies that are not there. Excerpt from “Tablets V” by Dunya Mikhail, excerpt
Let us gather flowers.
Let us bathe our hands
In the calm rivers,
And from them
Learn their calm.
Sunflowers eternally
Staring at the sun,
We will leave life
Tranquilly, not even
Regretting
Having lived. Ode I by Fernando Pessoa, translated from the Portuguese by Margaret Jull Costa & Patricio Ferrari, excerpt
From the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York:
If a well is really deep, you can see a star down there even in the middle of a sunny day. Ivan’s Childhood
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In the mineral dark, this maze
and matrix map a funky elation,
architecture devised in slow
motion, where tendrils bend
toward one another, tip
to tip, diverge, tangle, gather
and by vibration improvise
both call and response. Root Prayer by Patrick Rosal, excerpt
From the Morgan Library, New York:
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In the insomnia of forgotten drains,
in the sewers interrupted by the silence of sewage.
Not far from the puddles unable to keep a cloud,
lost eyes,
a broken ring,
or a trampled star. The Dead Angels by Rafael Alberti, translated from the Spanish by John Murillo, excerpt
“When you grow up, my son,
and read the volumes of Arabic poetry,
you will know that the word and the tear are sisters
and that the Arabic poem
is but a tear shed from the tips of the fingers” A Lesson in Drawing by Nizar Qabbani, translated from the Arabic by Rana Bitar, excerpt
All around in the low halls
hurricane lamps are being lit.
To look in the windows
you will have to crawl. The Barrens by Karen Solie, excerpt