The Alexandrians turned out in force to see Cleopatra’s children, Kaisarion and his little brothers, Alexander and Ptolemy, who for the first time had been taken out to the Gymnasium, to be proclaimed kings there before a brilliant array of soldiers. Alexander: they declared him king of Armenia, Media, and the Parthians. Ptolemy: they declared […]
after Rilke’s Herbsttag Time, it is time. Summer has been long-stretched-out, full. Go ahead, Fall: shrink down the days and sugar the grapes for late-harvest wine. Anyone still unknown to herself will stay, probably, that way. Anyone unlinked by love will be love- left-out now—waking, mind-pacing up and down up and down, restless as leaf-bits […]
There are some that only employ words for the purpose of disguising their thoughts. Voltaire (1694 – 1778), Dialogue, XIV, «Le Chapon et la Poularde» (1766)
Kjærligheten er sjelens blikk. Den er dette: å stanse et øyeblikk og vente og lytte. Simone Weil
It is right that he too should have his little chronicle, his memories, his reason, and be able to recognize the good in the bad, the bad in the worst, and so grow gently old down all the unchanging days, and die one day like any other day, only shorter. Samuel Beckett
What is true of one man, said the judge, is true of many. The people who once lived here are called the Anasazi. The old ones. They quit these parts, routed by drought or disease or by wandering bands of marauders, quit these parts ages since and of them there is no memory. They are […]
Slik båten og eg er i rytme, frå bølgjene, når eg er i ein båt ute på fjorden, slik skal også skrifta mi vere i ei rytme. Og noko skal kunne skje, vil fisken bite? Ein stor? Ein liten? Kva slags fisk? Og vil det komme til å blåse opp? Vil båten halde i den […]
I am what time, circumstance, history, have made of me, certainly, but I am also, much more than that. So are we all. James A. Baldwin
What shall I do with this body they gave me, so much my own, so intimate with me? For being alive, for the joy of calm breath, tell me, who should I bless? I am the flower, and the gardener as well, and am not solitary, in earth’s cell. My living warmth, exhaled, you can […]
Who robbed the woods, The trusting woods? The unsuspecting trees Brought out their burrs and mosses His fantasy to please. He scanned their trinkets, curious, He grasped, he bore away. What will the solemn hemlock, What will the fir-tree say? Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
