#Robert Hass

[feral-ballad]

Robert Hass, from The Handbook of Heartbreak: 101 Poems of Lost Love and Sorrow; “Privilege of being”

[Text ID: "I woke up feeling so sad this morning because I realized / that you could not, as much as I love you, / dear heart, cure my loneliness,"]

#robert hass #sadness #loneliness #love #heartbreak #excerpts #writings #literature #poetry #fragments #selections #words #quotes #typography #poetry collection

[firstfullmoon]

Robert Hass, from “Iowa City: Early April”

#w #poetry #robert hass #spring is the season of the heart #it is a serious thing just to be alive on this fresh morning in this broken world

[contremineur]

A man talking to his ex-wife on the phone. He has loved her voice and listens with attention to every modulation of its tone. Knowing it intimately. Not knowing what he wants from the sound of it, from the tendered civility. He studies, out the window, the seed shapes of the broken pods of ornamental trees. The kind that grow in everyone’s garden, that no one but horticulturists can name. Four arched chambers of pale green, tiny vegetal proscenium arches, a pair of black tapering seeds bedded in each chamber. A wish geometry, miniature, Indian or Persian, lovers or gods in their apartments. Outside, white, patient animals, and tangled vines, and rain.

Robert Hass, Sonnet

from here

Karl Blossfeldt, from here

#robert hass #sonnet #poetry #lit #karl blossfeldt

[derangedrhythms]

Robert Hass, Human Wishes; from ‘Privilege of Being’ (edited excerpt)

#robert hass #human wishes #privilege of being #poetry #excerpts #edited excerpts #celestial

[havingapoemwithyou]

song by robert hass

#robert hass #poetry #poem #autumn

[garadinervi]

Song of Myself by Walt Whitman, (1855-1892), Deluxe Edition with 17 woodcuts by John Storrs, May 1921 (text here, here) [Walt Whitman Collection, Yale University Library, Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, New Haven, CT]

Plus: Walt Whitman, Song of Myself and Other Poems, Introduction by Robert Hass, Counterpoint Press, Berkeley, CA, 2010

#graphic design #art #drawing #poetry #woodcut #book #walt whitman #john storrs #robert hass #counterpoint press #yale university library #beinecke rare book and manuscript library #1850s #1890s #1920s #2010s

[a-ramblinrose]

- Robert Hass, Sun Under Wood

#quote #Robert Hass #Sun Under Wood #Poetry #tell all the truth but tell it slant #writing #From the Writer's Desk #i will take the sun in my mouth #current reading #current reading quotes #Not out of void but out of chaos

[haveyoureadthispoem-poll]

"Such tenderness, those afternoons and evenings, / saying blackberry, blackberry, blackberry."

Read it here | Reblog for a larger sample size!

#open polls #polls #poetry #poems #poetry polls #poets and writing #tumblr poetry #have you read this #meditation at lagunitas #robert hass

[novlr]

“It's hell writing and it's hell not writing. The only tolerable state is having just written.” — Robert Hass

#writing #writing inspiration #writers #writing quote #writing quotes #creative writing #writeblr #writers of tumblr #creative inspiration #robert hass #just write #just write it #writer problems #writerblr #novlr #writer things

[icedamericanowithmehr]

x-x-x-x

#mehrposts #spring #first day of spring #random mb #im bored <3 #art #pink #green #yellow #flowers #fruit #insect #animal #aesthetic #moodboard #mb #moodboards #mbs #robert hass #poetry

[woundgallery]

Robert Hass

#robert hass #poetry #favorite poetry #florals #suffering florals #text

[girlwithlandscape]

“Meditation at Lagunitas” — Robert Hass

All the new thinking is about loss.

In this it resembles all the old thinking.

The idea, for example, that each particular erases

the luminous clarity of a general idea. That the clown-

faced woodpecker probing the dead sculpted trunk

of that black birch is, by his presence,

some tragic falling off from a first world

of undivided light. Or the other notion that,

because there is in this world no one thing

to which the bramble of blackberry corresponds,

a word is elegy to what it signifies.

We talked about it late last night and in the voice

of my friend, there was a thin wire of grief, a tone

almost querulous. After a while I understood that,

talking this way, everything dissolves: justice,

pine, hair, woman, you and I. There was a woman

I made love to and I remembered how, holding

her small shoulders in my hands sometimes,

I felt a violent wonder at her presence

like a thirst for salt, for my childhood river

with its island willows, silly music from the pleasure boat,

muddy places where we caught the little orange-silver fish

called pumpkinseed. It hardly had to do with her.

Longing, we say, because desire is full

of endless distances. I must have been the same to her.

But I remember so much, the way her hands dismantled bread,

the thing her father said that hurt her, what

she dreamed. There are moments when the body is as numinous

as words, days that are the good flesh continuing.

Such tenderness, those afternoons and evenings,

saying blackberry, blackberry, blackberry.

#meditation at lagunitas #quote #poetry #poem #robert hass #loss #longing #desire #for ff #meaning #words

[cutiewithawakenedheart]

"This is my life,

time islanded

in poems of dwindled time.

There is no other world."

----Robert Hass

#panda #awakened heart #poetry #Robert Hass

[missedstations]

"A Story About the Body" - Robert Hass

The young composer, working that summer at an artist's colony, had watched her for a week. She was Japanese, a painter, almost sixty, and he thought he was in love with her. He loved her work, and her work was like the way she moved her body, used her hands, looked at him directly when she made amused and considered answers to his questions. One night, walking back from a concert, they came to her door and she turned to him and said, "I think you would like to have me. I would like that too, but I must tell you that I have had a double mastectomy," and when he didn't understand, "I've lost both my breasts." The radiance that he had carried around in his belly and chest cavity—like music—withered very quickly, and he made himself look at her when he said, "I'm sorry. I don't think I could." He walked back to his own cabin through the pines, and in the morning he found a small blue bowl on the porch outside his door. It looked to be full of rose petals, but he found when he picked it up that the rose petals were on top; the rest of the bowl—she must have swept them from the corners of her studio—was full of dead bees.

#A Story About the Body #Robert Hass #Poems

[derangedrhythms]

and the angels are desolate.

Robert Hass, Human Wishes; from ‘Privilege of Being’

#robert hass #human wishes #privilege of being #poetry #excerpts #celestial

[tinkercreek]

from Praise (1979)

Meditation at Lagunitas All the new thinking is about loss. In this it resembles all the old thinking. The idea, for example, that each particular erases the luminous clarity of a general idea. That the clown- faced woodpecker probing the dead sculpted trunk of that black birch is, by his presence, some tragic falling off from a first world of undivided light. Or the other notion that, because there is in this world no one thing to which the bramble of blackberry corresponds, a word is elegy to what it signifies. We talked about it late last night and in the voice of my friend, there was a thin wire of grief, a tone almost querulous. After a while I understood that, talking this way, everything dissolves: justice, pine, hair, woman, you and I. There was a woman I made love to and I remembered how, holding her small shoulders in my hands sometimes, I felt a violent wonder at her presence like a thirst for salt, for my childhood river with its island willows, silly music from the pleasure boat, muddy places where we caught the little orange-silver fish called pumpkinseed. It hardly had to do with her. Longing, we say, because desire is full of endless distances. I must have been the same to her. But I remember so much, the way her hands dismantled bread, the thing her father said that hurt her, what she dreamed. There are moments when the body is as numinous as words, days that are the good flesh continuing. Such tenderness, those afternoons and evenings, saying blackberry, blackberry, blackberry.

Robert Hass

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47553/meditation-at-lagunitas

#robert hass #praise #meditation at lagunitas #poem #poetry