Into the paradise of euphony, the good poet must introduce hell. Broken paradises are the only kind worth reading.
Because the golden egg gleamed in my basket once, though my childhood became an immense sheet of darkening water I was Noah, and I was his ark, and t… - Mark Doty
Because the golden egg gleamed in my basket once, though my childhood became an immense sheet of darkening water I was Noah, and I was his ark, and t…
- Mark Doty
Sentimental assertions are always a form of detachment; they confront the acute, terrible awareness of individual pain, the sharp particularity of lo… - Mark Doty
Sentimental assertions are always a form of detachment; they confront the acute, terrible awareness of individual pain, the sharp particularity of lo…
Being in grief, it turns out, is not unlike being in love. In both states, the imagination's entirely occupied with one person. The beloved dwells a… - Mark Doty
Being in grief, it turns out, is not unlike being in love. In both states, the imagination's entirely occupied with one person. The beloved dwells a…
To choose to live with a dog is to agree to participate in a long process of interpretation, a mutual agreement though the human being holds most of … - Mark Doty
To choose to live with a dog is to agree to participate in a long process of interpretation, a mutual agreement though the human being holds most of …
Intimacy, says the phenomenologist Gaston Bachelard, is the highest value. I resist this statement at first. What about artistic achievement, or mora… - Mark Doty
Intimacy, says the phenomenologist Gaston Bachelard, is the highest value. I resist this statement at first. What about artistic achievement, or mora…
The World Will Break Your Heart. Grief might be, in some ways, the long aftermath of love, the internal work of knowing, holding, more fully valuing … - Mark Doty
The World Will Break Your Heart. Grief might be, in some ways, the long aftermath of love, the internal work of knowing, holding, more fully valuing …
There are those fortunate hours when the world consents to be made into a poem. - Mark Doty
There are those fortunate hours when the world consents to be made into a poem.
Here and gone. That’s what it is to be human, I think—to be both someone and no one at once, to hold a particular identity in the world (our names, o… - Mark Doty
Here and gone. That’s what it is to be human, I think—to be both someone and no one at once, to hold a particular identity in the world (our names, o…
Poetry is an investigation, not an expression, of what you know. - Mark Doty
Poetry is an investigation, not an expression, of what you know.
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