You've got to dig to dig it, you dig?
He lies if they ask him
how he does it.
To leap on top
or to the side.
To dodge the ceaseless
lottery.
Imperceptible,
in the back patio
of his mind,
a plant opens,
a succulent
of accomplishment.
I., Luis Muñoz. Translated from the Spanish by Idra Novey & Garth Greenwell
JH Prynne, born June 24 1936, died April 22 2026 (The Telegraph Obituaries)(also, in The Telegraph).
“One reason why he was so resistant to reading in public was his concern that audiences “believe so readily that some special insight has been communicated to them because the poet’s voice is authentic and true and inward, and so the whole mystery of the poem is presented to the ear of the audience. This belief is completely false, in my impression totally misguided, misleading, untrue and false.” He considered the memory of a poet’s voice to be “a really serious obstacle, and I detest to present obstacles to the freedom of the reader.””
Paris Review. Prynne Bibliography.
Haiti Inter sur Johnny Nicholas (Jean Marcel Nicholas). The Search for Johnny Nicholas, Hugh Wray McCann, David C. Smith, David L. Matthews (1982/2011).
Yesterday we walked apart,
Separate and cold and mortal.
Now the mystic kiss has joined us,
Now we stand inside the portal
That permits of no returning,
And my heart is strangely burning.
I know not what the word may be,
Or what the charm, or what the token,
That has filled us with this glory.
But never let the charm be broken.
Let it stay a mystery
For all time to be.
Yesterday, with lighter joys,
We wantoned at the outer portal.
Now, with love’s old alchemy,
We have made ourselves immortal.
Sudden Friendship, Elsa Gidlow
From no nowhere not near the sea
on blue field flax
the cemetery's absolutely solitary
you and you and a third
of a pound of bread
for supper in the refectory
where I would die of hunger
if you--if soon--if on this unday--one
undoing would be undone
Unday, Fanny Howe
Crime 101, Bart Layton. Based on novella by Don Winslow. Music by Blanck Mass.
NomaRhythm Textile. Filmed and Directed by Rinko Kawauchi
The long love that in my thought doth harbour
And in mine heart doth keep his residence,
Into my face presseth with bold pretence
And therein campeth spreading his bannèr.
She that me learns to love and suffèr
And wills that my trust, and lust’s negligence
Be reined by reason, shame, and reverence,
With his hardiness takes displeasùre.
Wherewithall unto the heart’s forest he fleèth,
Leaving his enterprise with pain and cry,
And there him hideth, and not appearèth.
What may I do when my master fearèth?
But in the field with him to live and die
For good is the life, ending faithfully.
[The long love that in my thought doth harbour], Thomas Wyatt
How a tropical bean could help treat Parkinson’s tremors, Meredith Bauer-Mitchell and Eva Sailly (ifas.ufl.edu)
Eleven o’clock, and the curtain falls.
The cold wind tears the strands of illusion;
The delicate music is lost
In the blare of home-going crowds
And a midnight paper.
The night has grown martial;
It meets us with blows and disaster.
Even the stars have turned shrapnel,
Fixed in silent explosions.
And here at our door
The moonlight is laid
Like a drawn sword.
End of Comedy, Louis Untermeyer
What is poetry? Is it a mosaic
Of coloured stones which curiously are wrought
Into a pattern? Rather glass that’s taught
By patient labor any hue to take
And glowing with a sumptuous splendor, make
Beauty a thing of awe; where sunbeams caught,
Transmuted fall in sheafs of rainbows fraught
With storied meaning for religion’s sake.
Fragment, Amy Lowell
We two, how long we were fool’d,
Now transmuted, we swiftly escape as Nature escapes,
We are Nature, long have we been absent, but now we return,
We become plants, trunks, foliage, roots, bark,
We are bedded in the ground, we are rocks,
We are oaks, we grow in the openings side by side,
We browse, we are two among the wild herds spontaneous as any,
We are two fishes swimming in the sea together,
We are what locust blossoms are, we drop scent around lanes mornings and evenings,
We are also the coarse smut of beasts, vegetables, minerals,
We are two predatory hawks, we soar above and look down,
We are two resplendent suns, we it is who balance ourselves orbic and stellar, we are as two comets,
We prowl fang’d and four-footed in the woods, we spring on prey,
We are two clouds forenoons and afternoons driving overhead,
We are seas mingling, we are two of those cheerful waves rolling over each other and interwetting each other,
We are what the atmosphere is, transparent, receptive, pervious, impervious,
We are snow, rain, cold, darkness, we are each product and influence of the globe,
We have circled and circled till we have arrived home again, we two,
We have voided all but freedom and all but our own joy.
We Two, How Long We Were Fool’d, Walt Whitman
Wild Nights – Wild Nights!
Were I with thee
Wild Nights should be
Our luxury!
Futile – the winds –
To a heart in port –
Done with the compass –
Done with the chart!
Rowing in Eden –
Ah, the sea!
Might I moor – Tonight –
In thee!
Wild Nights—Wild Nights! (249), Emily Dickinson