Thomas Merton, Thoughts In Solitude

Lee Hyemi, tr. by Soje, from Unexpected Vanilla; “Inside the tower”

[Text ID: “Why am I / inside this absence”]

Anna Akhmatova, tr. by Lenore Mayhew and William Mcnaughton, from Poem Without A Hero and Selected Poems; “In a dream”

“I fell asleep in the deep velvet of this wood; I dreamt divine things.”

— Delmira Agustini, from Morning Songs: Poems; “The Wings,” c. 1910

gothic poetry recs??

Edgar Allen Poe: all of his poems

Emily Brontë: all of her poems

Alice Notley, Songs and Stories of the Ghouls

Henry Wordsworth Longfellow, “Haunted Houses”: All houses wherein men have lived and died / are haunted houses.

Dana Levin, “styx”: if you // slit your wrist you could make them speak.

William Blake, “The Marriage of Heaven and Hell” “A Divine Image”: Terror the Human Form Divine 

Margaret Atwood, “Mushrooms” “Speeches for Dr. Frankenstein” “Marrying the Hangman”: What was my ravenous motive? / Why did I make you? 

Jorge Luis Borges, “Two English Poems”:  I can give you my loneliness, my darkness, the / hunger of my heart; I am trying to bribe you / with uncertainty, with danger, with defeat

Frank Bidart, “The Ghost”: if I had merely made you / love me you could not have saved me.

María Negroni, “Rosamundi”: they are bearing a / black wooden coffin and within it I, the invisible / bride

Anne Carson, “The Glass Essay”: She lives on a moor in the north. / She lives alone. / Spring opens like a blade there.

Emily Dickinson, “[The Loneliness One Dare not Sound]″: Its caverns and its corridors / Illuminate—or seal—

Jericho Brown, “Dear Dr. Frankenstein”: I, too, know the science of building men / Out of fragments in little light

Sylvia Plath, “Lady Lazarus” “Ariel” “Fever 103°”: I am too pure for you or anyone. / Your body / Hurts me as the world hurts God.

Hughes Mearns, “Antigonish [I met a man who wasn’t there]”: Yesterday, upon the stair, / I met a man who wasn’t there

Robert Lowell, “Florence“: Ah, to have known, to have loved / too many David and Judiths!

Gregory Orr, “Gathering the Bones Together”: I was twelve when I killed him; / I felt my own bones wrench from my body.

Paisley Rekdal, “Bats”: They flutter, shake like mystics. / They materialize.

If Not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho, Anne Carson | War of the Foxes, Richard Siken 

“Rage, maybe rage would lift me up, make me stand, make me walk—”

— Marlon James, Black Leopard, Red Wolf (via antigonick)

“He looks at me with the softest eyes that I have ever known.”

— C.H (via canadiemrps)

“Sometimes we want what we want even if we know it’s going to kill us.”

— Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch (via lyndsyfonseca)

hadestown // d.t. max // christian gottlieb // kurt vonnegut // richard siken