this one whom habit of memory propels to the ground of his making, Galway Kinnell More Quotes by Galway Kinnell More Quotes From Galway Kinnell It is necessary to reteach a thing its loveliness, to put a hand on its brow of the flower and retell it in words and in touch it is lovely until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing. Galway Kinnell flower blessing inspirational Go so deep into yourself, you speak for everyone. Galway Kinnell speak The first step in the journey is to lose your way. Galway Kinnell journey way firsts Never mind. The self is the least of it. Let our scars fall in love. Galway Kinnell falling-in-love self mind I will find that special person who is wrong for me in just the right way. Galway Kinnell wrong-person special way Turn on the dream you lived through the unwavering gaze. It is as you thought: the living burn. In the floating days may you discover grace. Galway Kinnell floating grace dream To me, poetry is somebody standing up, so to speak, and saying, with as little concealment as possible, what it is for him or her to be on earth at this moment Galway Kinnell speak earth littles I have always intended to live forever; but not until now, to live now. Galway Kinnell live-forever forever Sometimes it is necessary To reteach a thing its loveliness Galway Kinnell loveliness sometimes Kiss the mouth Galway Kinnell laughter kissing world Let our scars fall in love. Galway Kinnell scar falling-in-love fall When I sleepwalk into your room, and pick you up, and hold you up in the moonlight, you cling to me hard, as if clinging could save us. I think you think I will never die, I think I exude to you the permanence of smoke or stars, even as my broken arms heal themselves around you. Galway Kinnell stars broken thinking Second-hand gloves will become lovely again, their memories are what give them the need for other hands. And the desolation of lovers is the same: that enormous emptiness carved out of such tiny beings as we are asks to be filled; the need for the new love is faithfulness to the old. Galway Kinnell love-is memories hands The only sense we still respect is eyesight, probably because it is so closely attached to the brain. Go into any American house at random, you will find something - a plastic flower, false tiles, some imitation something - something which can be appreciated as material only if apprehended by eyesight alone. Don't we go sightseeing in cars, thinking we can experience a landscape by looking at it through glass? Galway Kinnell glasses flower thinking Thats the way it is with poetry: When it is incomprehensible it seems profound, and when you understand it, it is only ridiculous. Galway Kinnell ridiculous profound way the rest of my days I spend Galway Kinnell flavor poetry blood Prose is walking; poetry is flying Galway Kinnell prose flying poetry-is I love to go out in late September among the fat, overripe, icy, black blackberries to eat blackberries for breakfast, the stalks very prickly, a penalty they earn for knowing the black art of blackberry-making; and as I stand among them lifting the stalks to my mouth, the ripest berries fall almost unbidden to my tongue, as words sometimes do, certain peculiar words like strengths or squinched, many-lettered, one-syllabled lumps, which I squeeze, squinch open, and splurge well in the silent, startled, icy, black language of blackberry - eating in late September. Galway Kinnell knowing art fall The first step... shall be to lose the way. Galway Kinnell way travel firsts Is there a mechanism of death, that so mutilates existence no one, gets over it not even the dead? Galway Kinnell over-it get-over existence
