You Never Refuse. You Simply Don't Speak.

You never refuse. You simply don't speak.

Alicja Rybałko, A Prayer for the Forbidden Fruit tr. Regina Grol

More Posts from Moonmovement and Others

4 years ago

And your lips rise from the dead in each of my smiles.

Wisława Szymborska, A Sentence tr. Regina Grol


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2 years ago

To make something beautiful should be enough. It isn't. It should be.

Richard Siken, Landscape with a Blur of Conquerors


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2 years ago

I take the soil in

my clean fingers and to say

I weep is untrue, weep is too

musical a word. I heave

into the soil. You cannot die.

I just came to this life

again, alive in my silent way.

- Ada Limón, Invasive


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4 years ago

Death wanted to be this beautiful but we buried it

Garous Abdolmalekian, Sea tr. Ahmed Nadalizadeh and Idra Novey


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2 years ago

For his conversations about action (we have had more than one) are all descriptions of God

Anne Carson, Kinds of Water


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2 years ago

if I presume to understand negative capability, am I then incapable of it, since it is the capability of being in the presence of an uncertainty without reaching to understand it? [...] If negative capability works at all, it works in reverse, a kind of negative negative capability—which would make it positive—where very real anxiety and irritability over mystery and doubt enable the poet—no, propel him—into the world of the eye, the pure perceptual habit that checks all cognitive drives, not before they’ve begun but after they’ve begun, and done their damage.

Mary Ruefle, On Fear


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4 years ago

So often a metaphor arrives in the physical world with violence.

- Heather Christle, The Crying Book


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2 years ago

I would count the number of times we had made love. I felt that each time something new had been added to our relationship but that somehow this very accumulation of touching and pleasure would eventually draw us apart. We were burning up a capital of desire. What we gained in physical intensity we lost in time.

Annie Ernaux, Simple Passion


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4 years ago

Still he looked; still he paused. It is these pauses that are our undoing.

- Virginia Woolf, Orlando


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4 years ago

Someone was and was here and then suddenly disappeared and is stubbornly gone.

Wisława Szymborska, A Cat in an Empty Apartment tr. Regina Grol


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denn das Schöne ist nichts als des Schrecklichen Anfang

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