Showing posts with label hand. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hand. Show all posts
2.17.2025
she brushed your brow
A line like a mother’s hand passed over your brow.
Labels:
brow,
hand,
line is,
mother,
poetic line
7.04.2022
cards play themselves
In poker, when the cards are laid on the table, we say ‘the cards play themselves’: no interpretation needed to determine who has the better hand. So it should be in book reviewing—quote heavily from the book, and let the lines themselves show their relative value.
6.29.2021
written in sand
The poet thought he held his new poetry book in his hands, but as he read it turned into a handful of sand running through his fingers.
Labels:
fingers,
hand,
poetry book,
poetry publishing,
poetry reading,
sand
12.09.2019
1.12.2018
invisible hand
A poet is the reverse of a chess-player. He not only doesn’t see the piece and the board, he doesn’t see his own hand—which indeed may not be there.
—Marina Tsvetaeva, from title essay of Art in the Light of Conscience: Eight Essays on Poetry (Bloodaxe Books, 2010), introduced and translated by Angela Livingstone, p. 153.
—Marina Tsvetaeva, from title essay of Art in the Light of Conscience: Eight Essays on Poetry (Bloodaxe Books, 2010), introduced and translated by Angela Livingstone, p. 153.
Labels:
chess,
composition,
hand,
invisible,
marina tsvetaeva
5.25.2016
hands off
He knew when to take his hand away from the painting.
—Pliny the Elder, Natural History
She knew when to take her hand away from the poem.
—Pliny the Elder, Natural History
She knew when to take her hand away from the poem.
Labels:
art,
composition,
finished,
hand,
painting,
pliny the elder,
revision,
substitution of terms
2.08.2015
1.17.2014
who have loved beautiful things
And I add my own love to the history of people who have loved beautiful things, and looked out for them, and pulled them from the fire, and sought them when they were lost, and tried to preserve them and save them while passing them along literally from hand to hand, singing out brilliantly from the wreck of time to the next generation of lovers, and the next.
―Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch (Little Brown and Co., 2013)
[The painting: The Goldfinch by Carel Fabritius (1622-1654)]
―Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch (Little Brown and Co., 2013)
[The painting: The Goldfinch by Carel Fabritius (1622-1654)]
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)