Your touch suprises me
like a breath of sea air in the city
and I don’t know which way to move
in the opposing landscapes of my senses.
As if, crossing a street I have lived in for years
the taste of salt comes to my mouth
and I lose sight of what I’m walking towards:
a window that has caught and reflected
all that is familiar; or the edge of this island
from where we can at last look out.
“Closer”, Lavinia Greenlaw.
*Pour R, mon amour, si loin et si proche.
“Love, in the Western notion, is full of possession, distortion, and corruption. It’s a slaughter without the blood”
Claudia Tates, Black Women Writers at Work (1983)
“Writers’ reputations, particularly after their deaths, are not carefully crafted works of self-expression but palimpsests by diverse hands.” Evan Kindley, “I Did Not Approve this Message”.
You can read the whole article in The Paris Review.
“(C)ompanion, we thought the same thoughts of the soul, bleak and blue and sad-eyed, surrounded by the gnarled steel roots of trees of machinery”.
Allen Ginsberg, “Sunflower Sutra”