Sibastianquotes
i12bent:

Denise Levertov, British-born confessional poet, associated with the Black Mountain school: Oct. 24, 1023 - 1997…
A Tíme Past
The old wooden steps to the front doorwhere I was sitting that fall morningwhen you came downstairs, just awake,and my joy at sight of you (emerginginto golden day—                         the dew almost frost)pulled me to my feet to tell youhow much I loved you:those wooden stepsare gone now, decayedreplaced with granite,hard, gray, and handsome.The old steps liveonly in me:my feet and thighsremember them, and my handsstill feel their splinters.Everything else about and around that housebrings memories of others—of marriage,of my son. And the steps do too: I recallsitting there with my friend and her little son who died,or was it the second one who lives and thrives?And sitting there ‘in my life,’ often, alone or with my husband.Yet that one instant,your cheerful, unafraid, youthful, ‘I love you too,’the quiet broken by no bird, no cricket, gold leavesspinning in silence down withoutany breeze to blow them,                                   is what twines itselfin my head and body across those slabs of woodthat were warm, ancient, and nowwait somewhere to be burnt.
— from The Freeing of the Dust (1975)
Photo of Denise Levertov - one of Elsa Dorfman’s wonderful Polaroids

i12bent:

Denise Levertov, British-born confessional poet, associated with the Black Mountain school: Oct. 24, 1023 - 1997…

A Tíme Past

The old wooden steps to the front door
where I was sitting that fall morning
when you came downstairs, just awake,
and my joy at sight of you (emerging
into golden day— 
                        the dew almost frost)
pulled me to my feet to tell you
how much I loved you:

those wooden steps
are gone now, decayed
replaced with granite,
hard, gray, and handsome.
The old steps live
only in me:
my feet and thighs
remember them, and my hands
still feel their splinters.

Everything else about and around that house
brings memories of others—of marriage,
of my son. And the steps do too: I recall
sitting there with my friend and her little son who died,
or was it the second one who lives and thrives?
And sitting there ‘in my life,’ often, alone or with my husband.
Yet that one instant,
your cheerful, unafraid, youthful, ‘I love you too,’
the quiet broken by no bird, no cricket, gold leaves
spinning in silence down without
any breeze to blow them,
                                   is what twines itself
in my head and body across those slabs of wood
that were warm, ancient, and now
wait somewhere to be burnt.

— from The Freeing of the Dust (1975)

Photo of Denise Levertov - one of Elsa Dorfman’s wonderful Polaroids

In 1970, Gustav Metzger became the London organiser of the International Coalition for the Liquidation of Art. On October 20th, he, the mexican sculptor Felipe Ehrenberg (b. 1943), the British artist Stuart Brisley, Sigi Krauss, John Plant and other like minded people descended on the Tate Gallery…

oldchum:

breeapperley
I never really understood the word ‘loneliness’. As far as I was concerned, I was in an orgy with the sky and the ocean, and with nature.
Björk (via oceanofmind)
irateprimate:

letterstodeadpeople:

For Jessica who suggested the dead person. (I hope this is what you were looking for!)

irateprimate:

letterstodeadpeople:

For Jessica who suggested the dead person. (I hope this is what you were looking for!)

aelxndr:

I was just reading some Oscar Wilde when I realised I was drooling- literally drooling on the pillow over his words.

(via allblack)

(via allblack)

John Zorn : Arcana V: Musicians on Music,Magic & Mysticism
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