This morning I suddenly catch myself: I'm not there, I'm so lost in thought, I don't know what's going on around me. Can you think yourself to death? Anna Kamienska More Quotes by Anna Kamienska More Quotes From Anna Kamienska Writing down your thoughts is both necessary and harmful. It leads to eccentricity, narcissism, preserves what should be let go. On the other hand, these notes intensify the inner life, which, left unexpressed, slips through your fingers. If only I could find a better kind of journal, humbler, one that would preserve the same thoughts, the same flesh of life, which is worth saving. Anna Kamienska letting-go writing hands Tell me what’s the difference Anna Kamienska differences cutting heart Even a painful longing is some form of presence. Anna Kamienska longing form painful My poems are more my silence than my speech. Just as music is a kind of quiet. Sounds are needed only to unveil the various layers of silence. Anna Kamienska layers speech silence I write in order to comprehend, not to express myself. Anna Kamienska writing order I’ve learned to value failed conversations, missed connections, confusions. What remains is what’s unsaid, what’s underneath. Understanding on another level of being. Anna Kamienska levels confusion understanding There are things better left untouched by words. Anna Kamienska left I’m moved by everything broken and crippled. Since that’s how we really are. Anna Kamienska crippled moved broken I returned Anna Kamienska return Poetry is a presentiment of the truth. Anna Kamienska poetry-is The way a source strains toward the light, toward the air. Its laboring work, its effort, its black passageways like despair. That’s the way a poet looks for words. With muscles, gestures. Anna Kamienska effort light air I am that which lies beyond time. Like a melody, which sounds completely only after the last note is played. Anna Kamienska lasts sound lying I have no talent. I write poems for myself, to think things through, that’s all. Anna Kamienska talent writing thinking I don’t write poetry when I wish, I write when I can’t, when my larynx is flooded and my throat is shut. Anna Kamienska throat wish writing Tell me what's the difference Anna Kamienska differences patience Letters of the condemned. Last words scratched on a cell’s wall. To write like that. Anna Kamienska wall cells writing Where your pain is, there your heart lies also. Anna Kamienska pain heart lying We cling to words like drowning men to straws. But still we drown, we drown. Anna Kamienska drowning stills men
