December 2010
12 posts
4 tags
2 tags
Doves Playing Dead
When their souls grew cold they dropped
their wings to their sides.
- Sappho (42)
“My ashplant will float away. I shall wait. No, they will pass on, passing,...”
–
- James Joyce, Ulysses (41)
Patti Smith, Elegie (Horses, 1975)
memory...
The Prisoner Condemned to Death (Le Condamné à...
By Jean Genet : Translation by Mark Spitzer
Love, come to my mouth! Love, open doors! descend, walk softly, cross corridors fly through the stairwell more supple than a shepherd more borne by the air than a flurry of dead leaves.
Oh pass through the walls, and if you must walk to the edge — of rooftops, of oceans Cover yourself with light, use threats, use prayer But come,...
November 2010
0 posts
