It is the job of poetry to clean up our word-clogged reality by creating silences around things.
Stephane MallarmeRead
A soul trembling to sit by a hearth so bright, To exist again, it’s enough if I borrow from Your lips the breath of my name you murmur all night.
Interpretation
The quote expresses a deep yearning for connection and the significance of a beloved's words.
In this quote, Mallarme beautifully captures the essence of longing and intimacy in love. The imagery of a soul trembling by a bright hearth symbolizes warmth and comfort, while the desire to borrow the beloved's breath underscores the profound need for closeness and the value of being remembered and acknowledged by someone deeply cherished.
In practice
In a romantic speech during an anniversary dinner.
It is the job of poetry to clean up our word-clogged reality by creating silences around things.
As for me, Poetry takes the place of love, because it is enamored of itself, and because this self-lust has a delightful dying fall in my soul.
The pure work implies the disappearance of the poet as speaker, who hands over to the words.
The poetic act consists of suddenly seeing that an idea splits up into a number of equal motifs and of grouping them; they rhyme.
If you said good-bye to me tonight, There would still be music left to write.
I used to look in the mirror and feel shame, I look in the mirror now and I absolutely love myself.
I tried to keep myself away from him by using con words like "fidelity" and "adultery", by telling myself that he would interfere with my work, that I had him I'd be too happy to write. I tried to tell myself I was hurting Bennett, hurting myself, making a spectacle of myself. I was. But nothing helped. I was possessed. The minute he walked into a room and smiled at me, I was a goner.
But one kiss levitates above all the others. The intersection of function and desire. The I do kiss. The I’ll love you through a brick wall kiss. Even when I’m dead, I’ll swim through the Earth, like a mermaid of the soil, just to be next to your bones.
Since when has love ever looked for reasons, or evidence? Why would love bow to the reality of things, when it creates a reality of its own, so much more vivid, wherein everything resonates to the key of the heart?
A real girl isn't perfect and a perfect girl isn't real.
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