Posts tagged bodies.

A poem,
like trying
to remember,
is a movement
of the whole body.

Is even the end of us an account? No, don’t answer, I know that even the memory has weight. Once in the war I saw a dead horse that had been lying long against the ground. Time and the birds and its own last concentration had removed the body a great way from the head. As I looked upon that head, my memory weighed for the lost body; and because of that missing quantity even heavier hung that head along the ground. So love, when it has gone, taking time with it, leaves a memory of its weight.

Djuna Barnes, Nightwood, 1936 (via proustitute)

this tongue, these
lips the lightning

over the unchartered
landscape of your

thigh: successive
terra nova to

resist the still
life of the body

Roberto Tejada, from “Still Life” (via proustitute)

Bodies have their own light which they consume to live: they burn, they are not lit from outside.

Egon Schiele (via yama-batofrenchtwist)

(via proustitute)

A body to be caressed causes the hand to open.
There is no caress in the clenched fist; likewise,
no pen—the pen half-opens the hand.

The hand opens to the word, opens to distance.

Edmond Jabès, from “Those From Whom…” (“Ceux à qui…”), trans. Keith Waldrop (adapted from heart-hieroglyphs)

(via proustitute)