Oh! to make art, scintellant
polished, lustrous a:blaze.
Nothing could satisfy more, could
than the warmth of those flames,
the flight of those wings, warped and
fresh from the cocoon.
This artless cry is all I can muster
~ Kate Gough
To possess or be possessed by one’s own identity?
The self, the anti-self in dire embrace.
Instead of embracing God, he hugs himself.
~ Theodore Roethke, from The Middle of a Roaring World.
tw!sts; a slight quirk
of hand speAks
~ Kate Gough
“I was working on the proof of one of my poems all the morning, and took out a comma. In the afternoon I put it back again.”
~ Oscar Wilde
“Faith is not being sure. It is not being sure, but betting with your last cent… Faith is not a series of gilt-edged propositions that you sit down to figure out, and if you follow all the logic and accept all the conclusions, then you have it. It is crumpling and throwing away everything, proposition by proposition, until nothing is left, and then writing a new proposition, your very own, to throw in the teeth of despair… Faith is not making religious-sounding noises in the daytime. It is asking your inmost self questions at night and then getting up and going to work… Faith is thinking thoughts and singing songs and making poems in the lap of death.”
–Mary Jean Irion, 1970
c. Mary Kathryn Gough