#revmeg

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

"Dream" by Paul Hermann

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"You can be sad and clean and pure, if you go far enough inside yourself you are against yourself, or under yourself, like the Metro, the train cars tunneling life under life."

“Toilette” in My Dim Aviary by Gillian Cummings [revmeg]

[skeletons-eat]

Hi yes sorry I need to post this here I think

New fave rare pair since they are They SAME FUCKING AGE I CANT Believe THIS

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Cat Anderson, Francine Winham

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…All of the books in my head have made me cynical and distant, but there’s a choir in him that calls me forward my disbelief built as it is from the bricks of his belief not in any America you might see on network news or hear heralded before a football game but in the quiet power of Sam Cooke singing that he was born by a river that remains unnamed that he runs alongside to this day, some vast and future country some nation within a nation, black as candor…

from “America Will Be” by Joshua Bennett, found in The Best American Poetry 2019, edited by Major Jackson and David Lehman, p. 10 (via revmeg)

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

entr'acte 1924

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“…did you ever long for what seemed like the power of wind and water as they made their fleeting prowess known by moving things and then by moving on?”

— from “What the Mountain Knows” in Exploring this Terrain: Poems by Margaret B. Ingraham, p. 118

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

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"…We talk Ceaselessly to things that can’t respond Or won’t respond. What are we talking for? We’re talking to coax hope and love from zero. We’re talking so the brain of the geode Will listen like a garden heliotrope And open its quartz flowers. We are talking Because speech is a sun, a kind of making." from “The World” in Bone Fires: New and Selected Poems by Mark Jarman, p. 223 [revmeg]

[alive on all channels]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

"…I was my own storm once, so young and eager to raise the sail of my wanting, and I just wanted to tell you I love this old boat, this settled-in thing."

from “Keel” in Ramshackle Ode by Keith Leonard, p. 2 [revmeg]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Dragon, 1892, Theodor Severin Kittelsen

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"Similies–died on August 3, 2015. There was nothing like death, just death. Nothing like grief, just grief."

Obit: Poems by Victoria Chang, p. 92 [revmeg]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

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“…I’m watching my past dancing, little slip of childhood, like bit of shine. And when adolescence closes over her head, will the thread of her voice be broken? Will her sentences float up at the end like mine did, phrased as blameless questions? Will she waste hours yielding herself to the glossy lip and tape measure? (As I did, and my friend, and my friend before her.) Or will she break the surface streaming, prismatic, humming, her own voice gathered, gem- like, statement and reply?”

from “After Swimming” in Saint Agnostica by Anya Krugovoy Silver, p. 41 [revmeg]

[h/t "quidnunc"]

Laetitia Freling

seasoflife

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

"I’m so heartless seven species of bees Are now endangered and I didn’t do a thing Didn’t even send any money To anybody doing anything good"

from “During the Middle Ages” by Camille Guthrie, in The Best American Poetry 2020 edited by Paisley Rekdal, p. 71

[revmeg]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Between 1916 and 1925 Paul Klee (1879–1940) created around fifty hand puppets for his son, Felix, of which thirty are still in existence. For the heads, the artist used materials from his own household: beef bones and electrical outlets, bristle brushes, leftover bits of fur, and nutshells.

+

"…We talk Ceaselessly to things that can’t respond Or won’t respond. What are we talking for? We’re talking to coax hope and love from zero. We’re talking so the brain of the geode Will listen like a garden heliotrope And open its quartz flowers. We are talking Because speech is a sun, a kind of making."

from “The World” in Bone Fires: New and Selected Poems by Mark Jarman, p. 223 [revmeg]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

From a roll of film I shot at the end of the summer. [Härkönen]

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"follow the cloud to a new place. see the grace in undoing everything you’ve done."

from “moving” in There Is a Future: A Year of Daily Midrash by Amy Bornman, p. 43 [revmeg]

[via "alive on all channels"]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Marin headland. Sausalito : Fitzsimons photography

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"…We talk Ceaselessly to things that can’t respond Or won’t respond. What are we talking for? We’re talking to coax hope and love from zero. We’re talking so the brain of the geode Will listen like a garden heliotrope And open its quartz flowers. We are talking Because speech is a sun, a kind of making."

from “The World” in Bone Fires: New and Selected Poems by Mark Jarman, p. 223 [revmeg]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Rest on the flight into Egypt. 1879. Luc Oliver Merson. French. 1846-1920. :: oil on canvas.   

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“The earth is enough and the air is enough For our wonder and our war; But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings And our peace is put in impossible things Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings Round an incredible star.”

from “The House of Christmas” by G.K. Chesterton, found in Light Upon Light: A Literary Guide to Prayer for Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany, compiled by Sarah Arthur, p. 39

[revmeg]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

The Butterfly Releaser by Elle Moss

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“…I can say almost anything about you, O Big Idea, and with each epithet, Create new reasons to believe or doubt you, Black Hole, White Hole, Presidential Jet.” from “Unholy Sonnets, 1.” in Bone Fires: New and Selected Poems by Mark Jarman, p. 171  [revmeg]

[via alive on all channels]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Pass-a-Grille aerial view photocard mailed in 1962 from Pass-a-Grille.

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"for if the stars were arbitrary, if it meant nothing, what is there to believe? i want to believe it all. i want to imagine that everything on earth knows more than i do, turns and turns and carries the timing of life. instead of a doctrine of subtraction give me a doctrine of everything knows. give me the stars and the heavens, looking down on me with love and the fullness of time."

from “horoscope” in There Is a Future: A Year of Daily Midrash by Amy Bornman, p. 87 [revmeg]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

August, 1929 Art for the cover of “The Dance” magazine featuring Tamara Geva by Carl Link

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“…I’m watching my past dancing, little slip of childhood, like bit of shine. And when adolescence closes over her head, will the thread of her voice be broken? Will her sentences float up at the end like mine did, phrased as blameless questions? Will she waste hours yielding herself to the glossy lip and tape measure? (As I did, and my friend, and my friend before her.) Or will she break the surface streaming, prismatic, humming, her own voice gathered, gem- like, statement and reply?”

from “After Swimming” in Saint Agnostica by Anya Krugovoy Silver, p. 41 [revmeg]