من محل الورد المقابل للمقبرة يشتري وردا لا يعرف لمن وينتظر.

Prowling the meanings of a word, prowling the history of a person, no use expecting a flood of light. Human words have no main switch. But all those little kidnaps in the dark. And then the luminous, big, shivering, discandied, unrepentant, barking web of them that hangs in your mind when you turn back to the page you were trying to translate...

LedgeBirds that lovehigh treesand windsand ridingflailing brancheshate ledgesas griplessand narrow,so that a tailis not justno advantagebut ridiculous,mashed verticalagainst the wall.You will haveseen the waya bird who fallson skimpy placeslifts into the airagain in seconds --a gift deniedthe rest of uswhen our portionisn't generous.

i have had my ups and downsbut wotthehell wotthehellyesterday sceptres and crownsfried oysters and velvet gownsand today i herd with bumsbut wotthehell wotthehelli wake the world from sleepas i caper and sing and leapwhen i sing my wild free tunewotthehell wotthehellunder the blear eyed mooni am pelted with cast off shoonbut wotthehell wotthehell

You are my brother and I love you. I love you worshipping in your church, kneeling in your temple, and praying in your mosque. You and I and all are children of one religion, for the varied paths of religion are but the fingers of the loving hand of the Supreme Being, extended to all, offering completeness of spirit to all, anxious to receive all.

The birth of a true poet is neither an insignificant event nor an easy delivery. Complications generally begin long before the fated soul carries its dubious light into whatever womb has been kind enough to volunteer the intricate machinery of its blood and prayers and muscles for a gestation period much longer than nine months or even nine years.

in der Fußgängerzone kam Wind auf wie immer Wind aufkommt bei der Suche nach jenem richtigen Ort der sich stets weit entfernt zeigt, die Abfallpapiere am Boden verrutschten, mein Mantel flatterte, und, als wäre dies schon ein Grund mich selbst zu den Dingen zu zählen als wäre dies schon ein Grund blieb ich ungefragt stehen

one must verge on the unknown, write toward the truth hitherto unrecognizable of one’s own sincerity, including the avoidable beauty of doom, shame, and embarrassment, that very area of personal self-recognition,(detailed individual is universal remember) which formal conventions, internalized, keep us from discovering in ourselves and others

A Robin Redbreast in a CagePuts all Heaven in a Rage.A dove house fill’d with doves and pigeonsShudders Hell thro’ all its regions.A Dog starv’d at his Master’s GatePredicts the ruin of the State.A Horse misus’d upon the RoadCalls to Heaven for Human blood.Each outcry of the hunted HareA fiber from the Brain does tear.

Voodoo GirlHer skin is white cloth,and she's all sewn apartand she has many colored pinssticking out of her heart.She has many different zombieswho are deeply in her trance.She even has a zombiewho was originally from France.But she knows she has a curse on her,a curse she cannot win.For if someone getstoo close to her,the pins stick farther in.

i don't want to hate the presidenti don't want to go to harvardi don't want to win the pulitzer prizei just want to sit in my bathtuband think about relationships i will never havewith people i will never meetand then go lay in my bedwith a magnifying glassand count all the stiches in my sheetsuntil i fall asleepand wake upto repeat again.

The Pekes and the Pollicles, everyone knows, Are proud and implacable, passionate foes;It is always the same, wherever one goes.And the Pugs and the Poms, although most people saythat they do not like fighting, will often displayEvery symptom of wanting to join in the fray.And theyBark bark bark bark bark barkUntil you can hear them all over the park.

Fragmentary BlueWhy make so much of fragmentary blueIn here and there a bird, or butterfly,Or flower, or wearing-stone, or open eye,When heaven presents in sheets the solid hue?Since earth is earth, perhaps, not heaven (as yet)--Though some savants make earth include the sky;And blue so far above us comes so high,It only gives our wish for blue a whet.

It is not growing like a treeIn bulk, doth make Man better be;Or standing long an oak, three hundred year,To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere:A lily of a dayIs fairer far in MayAlthough it fall and die that night;It was the plant and flower of Light.In small proportions we just beauties see;And in short measures life may perfect be (Ben Jonson)

Thơ ca là thứ vô cùng phù phiếm nhưng vô cùng thiêng liêng. Tôi tin ngay. Cũng như tôi tin ở trền đời có những thứ vô cùng thiêng liêng nhưng vô cùng phù phiếm.