Tuesday, November 09, 2021

One Validated Witch


Long Years apart - can make no Breach 
A second cannot fill — 
The absence of the Witch does not 
Invalidate the spell — 

 --Emily Dickinson

Tuesday, October 26, 2021

One Loosened Leaf

Day in Autumn 
By Rainer Maria Rilke

After the summer's yield, Lord, it is time
to let your shadow lengthen on the sundials
and in the pastures let the rough winds fly.

As for the final fruits, coax them to roundness.
Direct on them two days of warmer light
to hale them golden toward their term, and harry
the last few drops of sweetness through the wine.

Whoever's homeless now, will build no shelter;
who lives alone will live indefinitely so,
waking up to read a little, draft long letters,   
and, along the city's avenues,
fitfully wander, when the wild leaves loosen.

~Translated by Mary Kinzie

Tuesday, October 12, 2021

One Enduring Rhyme

Je ne sais comment je dure,
Car mon dolent cœur fond d'ire,
Et plaindre n'ose, ni dire
Ma douloureuse aventure,
Ma dolent vie obscure.

Rien, hors la mort, ne désire;
Je ne sais comment je dure.
Il me faut, par couverture,
Chanter que mon cœur soupire
Et faire semblant de rire;

Mais Dieu sait ce que j'endure.
Je ne sais comment je dure.

--Christine de Pisan

Tuesday, June 08, 2021

One Dominated Dream

...men, finding in the raptures of the higher poetry a condition of exaltation, to which they have no parallel in their own experience, besides the spurious resemblance of it in dreams and fevers, impute a state of dreaminess and fever to the poet. But the true poet dreams being awake. He is not possessed by his subject, but has dominion over it.

--Charles Lamb

Tuesday, January 19, 2021

One Rent Rind

The pillar perish’d is whereto I leant,
The strongest stay of my unquiet mind;
The like of it no man again can find,
From east to west still seeking though he went,
To mine unhap. For hap away hath rent
Of all my joy the very bark and rind:
And I, alas, by chance am thus assign’d
Daily to mourn, till death do it relent.
But since that thus it is by destiny,
What can I more but have a woeful heart;
My pen in plaint, my voice in careful cry,
My mind in woe, my body full of smart;
And I myself, myself always to hate,
Till dreadful death do ease my doleful state.

--Thomas Wyatt