Ci abituiamo al buio

Ci abituiamo al buio

Ci abituiamo al buioquando la luce è spenta;dopo che la vicina ha retto il lumeche è testimone del suo addio,per un momento ci muoviamo incertiperché la notte ci rimane nuova,ma poi la vista si adatta alla tenebrae affrontiamo la strada a testa alta.Così avviene con tenebre più vaste –quelle notti dell’animain cui nessuna luna ci fa segno,nessuna stella interiore si mostra.Anche il più coraggioso…

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Emily Dickinson, an envelope poem

El Alma selecciona su propia Sociedad— Después—cierra la Puerta— A su divina Mayoría— Ya sin estar presente—

Inconmovible—advierte que las Carrozas—paran— Ante su Puerta humilde— Inconmovible—aunque un Emperador esté postrado Sobre su misma estera—

La he visto—de entre un grupo numeroso— Escoger sólo a Uno— Después—cerrar las Válvulas de su propia atención— Como una Piedra—

Emily Dickinson

Traducción de Hernán Bravo Varela

Questa è la mia lettera al mondo,

che non ha mai scritto a me.

-esse

also maggie is a goddess say it with me now

“I am out with lanterns looking for myself.” ― Emily Dickinson ---------------------------------- Necklace Specs: - 18.5 inches with branded 'Idol' tag - Lobster clasp closure - $43 plus shipping Features: - Freshwater pearls - Lampwork lantern & black rose beads Strung on heavy duty jeweler's wire for security. 

Available now in my shop!

Spotlight Photography - The Feet of People Walking Home - A poem by Emily Dickinson

Spotlight Photography – The Feet of People Walking Home – A poem by Emily Dickinson

The Feet of People Walking Home by Emily Dickinson The feet of people walking homeWith gayer sandals go,The Crocus, till she risesThe Vassal of the snow —The lips at Hallelujah!Long years of practise bore,Till bye and bye these BargemenWalked singing on the shore. Pearls are the Diver’s farthingsExtorted from the Sea,Pinions the Seraph’s wagonPedestrian once, as we —Night is the morning’s…

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Éste era un Poeta—Él es Aquél Que destila sentidos asombrosos De los Significados más comunes— Y una esencia tan vasta

De las especies más reconocibles Que perecieron cerca de la Puerta— Que nos interrogamos si no fuimos Nosotros Quienes las retuvimos—desde antes—

De las Imágenes, Desvelador— El Poeta—Él es ése— Que nos brinda el Derecho—por Contraste— A la Pobreza que jamás termina—

De toda una Porción—tan inconsciente— El Hurto—no podría hacerle daño— A Él mismo—para Él—una Fortuna— Fuera—del Tiempo—

Emily Dickinson

Traducción de Hernán Bravo Varela

Angel & Shield . 🤍🛡

We never know how high we are

Till we are called to rise;

And then, if we are true to plan,

Our statures touch the skies—

The Heroism we recite

Would be a daily thing,

Did not ourselves the Cubits warp

For fear to be a King—

Emily Dickinson

"WGF Library Script Breakdown with Dickinson's Alena Smith"

You can now watch Alena Smith's commentary in the making of "Split The Lark" (Season 2, Episode 6) on YouTube! Throughout the video they talk about the process of how the episode was made, the real meaning behind the "bird feathers flapping" in the beginning of the song "Split the Lark", performed by Ella Hunt in the episode, some information about Season 3 of Dickinson and so on!

just thinking about how i started dickinson for the wlw content only to see emily & sue interact for less than thirty minutes during the entirety of the two seasons

Dominant Susan Gilbert Dickinson

A través de qué éxtasis de calma el impasible júbilo alcancé para mi espacio respirar sin ti. Constata todo esto. Por aquella sombría exultación gané –tan cerca ahora– tu privilegio: el de morir. Abrevia.

Emily Dickinson, poema 1153 antologado en La soledad sonora. Traducción de Lorenzo Oliván.

💭🖤

https://twitter.com/moniza_hossain/status/1382962104286601216?s=20

I get hungry, I open the fridge, I see the collection of foods, I decide I’m not that hungry for said foods, I close the fridge, I make myself yet another cup of coffee and go back to yearning.

“Would it be too childish of me to say: I want? But I do want: theater, light, color, paintings, wine and wonder.”

–Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath