I’ve a fear of pure poetry sometimes, / the immaculate peace of it,
Garrett Hongo, "The Surfaces of the Sea" from Ocean of Clouds


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I’ve a fear of pure poetry sometimes, / the immaculate peace of it,
Garrett Hongo, "The Surfaces of the Sea" from Ocean of Clouds

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Richard Jack.
Spanish Hill Town, 1976. Millard Sheets, 1907-1989. Watercolor on paper
Two women by the sea, 1904
The Monk by the Sea - c. 1808-10 and Moonrise over the Sea - 1822 by Caspar David Friedrich

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“Like a pearl diver who descends to the bottom of the sea, not to excavate the bottom and bring it to light but to pry loose the rich and the strange, the pearls and the coral in the depths, and to carry them to the surface, this thinking delves into the depths of the past – but not in order to resuscitate it the way it was and to contribute to the renewal of extinct ages. What guides this thinking is the conviction that although the living is subject to the ruin of time, the process of decay is at the same time a process of crystallization, that in the depths of the sea, into which sinks and is dissolved what once was alive, some things “suffer a sea-change” and survive in new crystallized forms and shapes that remain immune to the elements, as though they waited only for the pearl diver who one day will come down to them and bring them up into the world of the living – as “thought fragments,” as something “rich and strange,” and perhaps even as everlasting.”
— Hannah Arendt, quoted by Siobhan Kattago in Memory and Representation in Contemporary Europe: The Persistence of the Past
On this blue day, you stand for a long time on a high mountain and stare at clouds merging together, covering land and sea. You think you are higher than yourself, like a bird existing only in a metaphor. The metaphor entices you to break away from it and look at the empty sky, like a blue desert without a mirage to be seen. Then the metaphor calls you back to its source and you cannot find a way through the clouds. On this blue night, you see the mountains looking at the stars and the stars looking at the mountains. You think they can see you, so you thank them for their affable company. You are reluctant to emerge from the metaphor in case you fall into the well of loneliness.
Mahmoud Darwish, from "A Metaphor" in A River Dies of Thirst: Journals
I love writing letters.
Church Interior with Woman at Prayer, before a Rococo Iron Grille, Adolph von Menzel
Jusepe de Ribera
The Holy Family with Saints Anne and Catherine of Alexandria · Detail (1648)
Metropolitan Museum of Art

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Etude pour “Le repos de la Sainte Famille” / Study for “The rest of the Holy Family”, Henri Fantin-Latour. French (1836 - 1904) - pierre noire sur papier calque -
A student sits on the knee of Victor Hugo’s statue in Paris Sorbonne courtyard during a demonstration in Paris on May 14, 1968 during the May 1968 students revolt
Natalie Wood photographed by Peter Basch in May 1958.
أصِلُ إلى حقولِ الذاكرة وقصورها، حيث توجد كنوز من الصور لا تُحصى ولا تُعَدّ، وقد جاءت بها مدركات الحواسّ المتعددة الأشكال، فيها أودعت جميع الصور التي صوّرناها أيضًا إمّا بالزيادة أو بالنقصان أو بأي شكل من أشكال التحوير لما بلغته حواسّنا، وكلّ ما أودع وادخِّر هناك، مالم يغمرهُ النسيان ويدفنه.
عندما أكون هناك، أستدعي من تلك الصور ما أريد أن يحضرني، يأتي بعضها في الحال، وبعضها أترقّبهُ مدةً أطول، وكأنّه انتُزِع من أماكن أكثر عزلةٍ وخفاء. أما بعضها الآخر فيندفع حشودًا، وبينما نطلبُ غيرها ونبحث عنها تقفز إلى الصفِّ الأول، وكأنها تقول: «لعلّهُ دورنا نحن...؟» وأطردها بيدِ قلبي من مُحيّا ذاكرتي حتّى تخرج الصورة التي أريدها من السحاب وتأتي أمام عينيَ من أعماق مخبئها (ex abditis= du fond de sa chachette).
وبعضها يتقدّم، حالما يُستدعى بكلِّ يُسرٍ وفي صفوفٍ منتظمة، ويترك السابقُ منها المكان للّاحق، وفيما هي تُفسح لها المجال، تصطفُّ جانبًا حتى تتقدّم ثانيةً بإذنٍ مني. فذاكَ كلُّ ما يحدث، عندما أروي شيئًا ما تذكّرًا.
—
في ذاكرتي الحقولُ والكهوفُ والمغاراتُ التي لا تُحصى، والمليئة بعديدٍ مِن الأجناس من الأشياء، سواء بالصور كما هو شأنُ جميعِ الأجسام، أو بالحضورِ كما في العلوم، أو بما لا أدري من الأفكار أو التدوينات، كما في مشاعر الروح التي تحفظها الذاكرة، وإن لم تنفعل الروح من جرّائها رغم أنَّ كلَّ ما يُوجَد في الذاكرة يوجَد في الفكر. أجري مخترقًا جميعَ هذه الأشياء وأطيرُ هنا وهناك... لا شيءَّ يحُدّها! ما أعظمَ قوّة الذاكرة، وما أعظمَ قوّة الحياة عند الإنسان الحيّ الفاني.
تُرى، ما العمل يا إلهي؟ سأتجاوز هذه القوّةَ التي تسمّى الذاكرة، سأتجاوزها حتى أتّجهَ نحوك، يا نوريَ العَذْب.
فالذاكرة تملكها أيضًا الدوابّ والعصافير، وإلّا لَمَا عادت إلى مرابِضها وأعشاشها، ولَمَا قامت بأشياء كثيرة أخرى عاديّة لديها، إذ ما كانت لتتعوّد على أيّ من هذه الأفعال إلّا بالذاكرة، إذن سأتجاوزُ أيضًا الذاكرة، حتى أصِلَ إلى الذي «فصَلَني عن السوائم وجعلني أكثرَ حكمةً مِن الطيورِ في السماء»، سأتجاوز أيضًا الذاكرة لأجِدك.
-الكتاب العاشر، اعترافات القدّيس أغوستينوس، ت. إبراهيم الغربي
“God, who created it with such magnificence, it is thee I invoke: show me a man who is good… But at the same time increase my strength tenfold; for at the sight of such a monster, I may die of astonishment: men have died of less.”
— Comte de Lautréamont, Maldoror and Poems

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“May my silences become more accurate. ~ Words wear me away.”
— Theodore Roethke, fragments of “The Poet’s Business” from Straw for the Fire
When life itself seems lunatic, who knows where madness lies? Perhaps to be too practical is madness. To surrender dreams — this may be madness. Too much sanity may be madness — and maddest of all: to see life as it is, and not as it should be!
Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, from Don Quixote, 1605