“The landscape thinks itself in me and I am its consciousness.”
— Paul Cézanne, quoted in “Lives We Keep Wanting to Know,” Acts of Mind: Conversations with Contemporary Poets, ed. Richard Jackson (University of Alabama Press, 1984)
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@bluewillowmoon
“The landscape thinks itself in me and I am its consciousness.”
— Paul Cézanne, quoted in “Lives We Keep Wanting to Know,” Acts of Mind: Conversations with Contemporary Poets, ed. Richard Jackson (University of Alabama Press, 1984)

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Azenoire
Natura sonoris
“Night always meant longing—for the woman was moonlight, something that could touch him but he was unable to touch in return.”
— Greg Sellers, journal entry, Notes from Neruda’s Ghost, 24 March 2018
(saved from memoryslandscape post)
“Whatever we loosen from the past, burns in the solvent of memory.”
— David Bergman, from “Urban Renewal, Baltimore,” A New Geography of Poets, eds. Edward Field, Gerald Locklin, Charles Stetler (University of Arkansas Press, 1992)
This is how deep I was lost,
my darling, in a love so narcotic
I possessed unimpaired splendour
having no other want or wish
— Michael Ondaatje, from “Definition,” The Distance of a Shout: Selected Poems (Alfred A. Knopf, 2026)

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©imagemm ©Marisa Marko 2015
“It arrives all at once tonight,
not as memory, but like a gift
from forgetfulness,
as a desire can wake you.”
— Michael Ondaatje, from “5 A.M.,” The Distance of a Shout: Selected Poems (Alfred A. Knopf, 2026)
Who am I, if not one who listens
for words to stir from the silences they keep?
Love is the ground note; we cannot do
without it or the sorrow of its changes.
— Peter Everwine, from “Aubade in Autumn,” Listening Long and Late: Poems (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2013)
slant of sunlight
on hay-flecked hair
doves flutter too
— Yūgure, 13 June 2026
“And in the evening when loss seems too great to fill that black empty space between few stars, I wish to disappear into the night’s thin vanishing, try to forget the moon’s gentle need to hold old shadows.”
— Greg Sellers, from “Elegy with a Wedge in Wood,” from an untitled manuscript-in-progress (via memoryslandscape)

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silences44, untitled, 2017
“It was love, that vague sensation,
in the darkness of a porch
that suddenly
would surround us,
enrapture us, in the burning flurry of
breaths, and heartbeats,
and stolen smiles.”
— Forugh Farrokhzad, from “Those Days,” Another Birth and Other Poems, transl. Hasan Javadi and Susan Sallée (Mage Publishers, 2010)
“What ends goes on ending, he thought, waking into his grief.”
— Peter Everwine, from “The Room Was Dark,” Listening Long and Late: Poems (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2013)
“All my existence is a dark verse.”
— Forugh Farrokhzad, from “Another Birth,” Another Birth and Other Poems, transl. Hasan Javadi and Susan Sallée (Mage Publishers, 2010)

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Poetry's another word
For losing everything
Except purity of heart.
Paul Durcan
We are unaware of all the temporal gaps we experience in our visual perception in the span of even one second. And It’s exhilarating. To think how untouched the world is. And to remember that i can reach my hand into some sort of poetic moment and keep it submerged purely for the ecstasy of it.