poemakontsa
@poemakontsa.bsky.social
Former poète maudit, RIP 2021. 2024-25 Pushcart nominee for most Proustean heartbreak. Montalean longing, Lorca pinning. I have to give you up again And I can't. I am after the lost sign, the single pledge you graced me with. And hell is certain
La verdad, atada a vestigios de sueño abandonados, por la arista viene como un niño. Paul Celan (ah, estas relecturas celanianas)
A poem by Arseny Tarkovsky senior on waiting and on returns that are always too late. Yesterday Morning I began waiting for you and would until dark. They somehow knew you would not come
Very proud of and excited about this programme. I really don't think there is anything else like it. Our team of volunteers worked so hard on making it all happen. Join us! Really tiny number of places left now ❤️
European Writers Salon@saloneurope.bsky.social · 2d agoOur full Madrid programme is out!! Check out the yoga sessions, workshops, dinners, tours, public readings and more that we have planned for our 3-day Annual Salon. We only have a handful of tickets left, so get yours while you still can✨
Some Latino Chilean melancholy with poet Enrique Gómez Correa Vertigo of the Night This is why I allow my heart to descend into memory To remain inside silence So that I will always be That pure movement of dream.
More stunning poetry by Chilean Enrique Gómez Correa. Alice in Wonderland When the tree gives free rein to its desires When the tree sees with its eyes wide open and recovers its sense of smell And notices us we who identify with the lake's weariness.
Bede's World! Bede's World! Party time! Venerable!
Some Latino Chilean melancholy with poet Enrique Gómez Correa Vertigo of the Night This is why I allow my heart to descend into memory To remain inside silence So that I will always be That pure movement of dream.
Good morning with a heartbreaking Julie Suk on memory and loss. Lie down with me There are nights memory invades hollows and crevices - a caress so insistent my body throbs
Good morning with Nicole Sealey's stupendous poem on the myth of Sisyphus. Imagine Sisyphus Happy How do we author our gentle birth
Trying to pray with poet Jean Valentine A Bone Standing Up A bone standing up she worked for words word by word up Mt. Fear
Good morning to you, raging, raging against the dying of the light
I like that poem, too -- a very early one for Rilke. Here's my English version of it: translations.diehoren.com/2015/04/you-...
"You know I'd like to slip"
You know I'd like to slip from the loudly buzzing room when the first pale stars, high above the darkened oaks, catch fi...
translations.diehoren.com
Wile E. Coyote, despaired, takes a bucket of paint and a brush and paints a beautiful two-bedroom house on a mountainside. He paints a beautiful coyote wife in the window, and two adorable coyote kids running around in the yard. He tries to enter this new coyote life, but it is inaccessible to him
In the afternoon, Albertine’s farewell letter wounds us across time. « Je vous laisse le meilleur de moi-même. »
might fuck around and watch a movie then write some poems then watch an Italian crime drama then read some poems then go on a little walk then edit some poems and repeat and repeat until Monday's work responsibilities inevitably arrive 🍻
You can kill a French vampire with a baguette. It's a painstaking process but it works.
All you have to do is embarrass the hell out of yourself and then call yourself a writer. It's so easy