One of mine, for a change… Watch the discards of love on Sunday afternoons, walking from house to car, on to riverbeds or mountains, or up mountains from where the silhouettes of others seem so much less distinct than our own. Watch, if they linger, how the twilight begins to reveal the stars, and how [...]
by Gwendolyn MacEwen my friends, my sweet barbarians, there is that hunger which is not for food – but an eye at the navel turns the appetite round with visions of some fabulous sandwich, the brain’s golden breakfast eaten with beasts with books on plates let us make an anthology of recipes, let us edit [...]
Charles Bukowski: a smile to remember we had goldfish and they circled around and around in the bowl on the table near the heavy drapes covering the picture window and my mother, always smiling, wanting us all to be happy, told me, “be happy Henry!” and she was right: it’s better to be happy if [...]
More from Larkin Talking In Bed Talking in bed ought to be easiest, Lying together there goes back so far, An emblem of two people being honest. Yet more and more time passes silently. Outside, the wind’s incomplete unrest Builds and disperses clouds in the sky, And dark towns heap up on the horizon. None [...]
by Philip Larkin Sometimes you hear, fifth-hand, As epitaph: He chucked up everything And just cleared off, And always the voice will sound Certain you approve This audacious, purifying, Elemental move. And they are right, I think. We all hate home And having to be there: I detest my room, It’s specially-chosen junk, The good [...]