Monthly Archives: November 2012

from “Three Moments in Paris”

Though you had never possessed me
I had belonged to you since the beginning of time

Mina Loy

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from “The Plain Sense of Things”

It is difficult even to choose the adjective for this blank cold, this sadness without a cause.

Wallace Stevens

from “The Poems of our Climate”

The imperfect is our paradise.

Wallace Stevens

from “Tea at the Palaz of Hoon”

I was myself the compass of that sea:
I was the world in which I walked.

Wallace Stevens

The Snow Man

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

Wallace Stevens

from “Sunday Morning”

We live in an old chaos of the sun.

Wallace Stevens

from “Sunday Morning”

Death is the mother of beauty… Is there no change of death in paradise?

Wallace Stevens