A Poem Of Many Poems
A Poem of Many Poems
To write, my darling
It is the only way, truly,
To be heard forever
I write because-
Because
No one can take it away
From me
Or from the world
As the poets say,
Littera scripta manet
The written word remains
Indefinitely
Even when not a soul
Can understand a word
Of what I’ve written,
The letters will be there,
The sounds,
The beauty
That there is in words,
In language
I will be a relic,
A fossil preserved in the golden amber
Of eternity
And words
The poet is as the musician is,
Forever in sound
Words and are simply that,
Beautiful melody
More Posts from My-dearest-giulia and Others
the poetry students
as requested by @shout-into-the-voiddd
reciting stanzas of your favorite poems under the light of the moon
pages covered in notes and annotations
repeating words aloud to feel how they roll through your mouth
a love for beauty and the many ways it can be expressed
quiet moments outside, listening to the sounds of nature
paying attention to little things others might miss
understanding the importance of diction and figurative language
studying the lives of famous poets, seeing how their worlds impacted their writing
the crunch of autumn leaves underfoot
an appreciation for those who can use a few words to communicate something infinitely complicated
long hours curled up reading in your favorite chair
feeling a sense of camaraderie between yourself and your favorite poets
thin poetry volumes stacked on your shelves
a love for metaphor and simile
reading the works of Langston Hughes and Emily Dickinson, Jamaica Kincaid and Lord Byron, appreciating the infinite variety
a messy desk, drawers filled with an array of papers
awe over how mere words on a page can transmit deep emotion
cloudy mornings
a notebook filled with half-formed poems, lines and stanzas borne from a moment of inspiration
warming your fingers on a mug of hot tea
seeking a way to capture the human condition in ink on the page
using poetry to make sense of your world and experiences
last book that I…
bought: the secret history, donna tartt
borrowed: letters home, sylvia plath
was gifted: infinite jest, david foster wallace
started: uno, nessuno e centomila, l. pirandello
finished: song of achilles, madeline miller
didn’t finish: emma, jane austen
last book that I;
bought: stone blind, natalie haynes
borrowed: the collected poems of sylvia plath
was gifted: a set of antique 1830-1850s novels
started: elektra, jennifer saint
finished: a thousand ships, natalie haynes
gave 5 stars to: tales from the estate, sadie davidson
gave 2 stars to: war of the worlds, h. g. wells
didn't finish: if we were villains, m. l. rio
tagging anyone who wants to take part
“ ..The sea and sky looked all one fabric, as if sails were stuck high up in the sky, or the clouds had dropped down into the sea.. ”
- Virginia Woolf “To the Lighthouse” 1927
when remco campert said "poetry is an act of affirmation. i affirm that i live, that i do not live alone."
Is life not just a scramble to get things done before a deadline that you don’t even know the time of?
the feel of shaking out your cramping hand as your chopin vinyl comes to end, looking up from your notebook to realize with surprise that the sun had set as you were writing, counting the pages of your notebook you have filled, squinting to decipher your handwriting as it devolved into illegibility at the end, marking in preliminary edits with a bright red pen and a critical eye, laying out the pages on your floor, grinning at the tangibility of your productivity, your success
06.18.22
headed to visit friends for the long weekend ,, i always have such a hard time convincing myself to go places when i get in a routine w school or work, but you gotta take advantage of the time you have ig
🎧: the door is closing - spirit of the beehive
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