Justin Vernon - Ring Out
And I am ringing you out
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The heart is a coin
of fire. How shall we spend it?
How is the sun spent?
Lewis Turco - Pentacles
Come, my friends,
‘Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
‘Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
— from Ulysses - Lord Tennyson
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Lawren Harris - Mount Thule Bylot Island
Solitude is like the rain.
It rises from the sea to meet the evening;
It rises from the dim, far-distant plain
toward the sky, as by an old birthright.
And thence falls on the city from the height.
It falls like rain in that gray doubtful hour
when all the streets are turning toward the dawn,
and when those bodies, with all hope foregone
of what they sought, are sorrowfully alone;
and when all men, who hate each other, creep
together in one common bed for sleep;
then solitude flows onward with the rivers…
Rainer Marie Rilke - Solitude
Posted May 15, 2012 at 6:39pm in Lawren Harris Mount Thule Bylot Island Rilke solitude art poetry
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3 notes
Light traveled over the wide field;
Stayed.
The weeds stopped swinging.
The mind moved, not alone.
Through the clear air, in the silence.
Was it light?
Was it light within?
Was it light within light?
Stillness becoming alive,
Yet still?
A lively understandable spirit
once entertained you.
It will come again.
Be still.
Wait.
— Theodore Roethke - from The Lost Son
The last blackbird lights up his gold wings: farewell.
Your eyes close inside your head,
in sleep. Already
in your dreams the hours begin to sing.
— Galway Kinnell - The Book of Nightmares
The mind of a perfect man is like a mirror. It grasps nothing; it expects nothing. It reflects but does not hold.
— Lao Tzu (via lucifelle)
(via peacefulhealing)
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When a man walks into a room, he brings his whole life with him. He has a million reasons for being anywhere, just ask him. If you listen, he’ll tell you how he got there. How he forgot where he was going, and that he woke up. If you listen, he’ll tell you about the time he thought he was an angel or dreamt of being perfect. And then he’ll smile with wisdom, content that he realized the world isn’t perfect. We’re flawed, because we want so much more. We’re ruined, because we get these things, and wish for what we had.
-Don Draper
They are silent because the division walls
are broken down in the brain,
and hours when they might be understood at all
begin and leave again.
Often when they go to the window at night,
suddenly everything seems right:
their hands touch something intangible,
the heart is high and can pray,
the calmed eyes gaze
down on this unhoped-for, oft-distorted
garden in this peaceful square at rest,
which in the reflex of this foreign world
grows ever larger, never to be lost.
— Rilke - The Insane
Q
do you still write?
from:Anonymous
A
Yes. I don’t sit down and say, “I’m going to write now”. I write when I have to, which has been sporadic for the past few months.
Posted March 7, 2012 at 8:45am
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And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free
Wendell Berry - The Peace of Wild Things
