Just as indifference is the opposite of love, the opposite of indifference is memory.
—Elie Wiesel
In the dark times
Will there also be singing?
Yes, there will be singing
About the dark times.
—Bertolt Brecht
I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely.
Crowned with lilies and with laurel they go: but I am not resigned.
Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains — but the best is lost.
The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love, —
They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.
—Edna St. Vincent Millay, “Dirge Without Music”
Who will take me
home,
where the creek falls
asleep
in long drawls
of syllables
of water, not of words?
This place is gorging
words like lotus lilies.
I’ll fall asleep on words,
belly fat,
and wake up with an ulcer.
Who will take me
home,
where toads and crickets
wreathe the river’s ways,
croaking
like toads and crickets?
—anonymous, dedicated to Jonathan
No man is an island entire of itself. Every man is a part of the continent, a piece of the whole. ... Any man’s death diminishes me because I am involved in mankind.
—John Donne, “Meditation XVII
Look to this day, for it is life. In its brief course lie all the realities and verities of existence, the bliss of growth, the splendour of action, the glory of power. For yesterday is but a dream, and tomorrow is only a vision, but today, well lived, makes yesterday a dream of happiness and every tomorrow a vision of hope. Look well, therefore to this day.
—anonymous
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die!
—Mary Frye, “Andre’s Prayer”
I, an expert in human passions,
Composed this collection of songs, where every verse
Is full to the brim with black sorrow,
For I detest these passions in myself.
I wrote so that my words could reach
People in all corners of the earth,
I wrote for those who only enter life
As well as for those who have lived and matured,
For those completing their earthly journey
And stepping over the fateful limit.
I wrote for the righteous and for sinners,
For the comforting and the inconsolable,
For the judging and the convicted,
For the penitent and those enslaved by sin,
For do-gooders and villains,
For virgins and adulterers,
For all: the high-born and the godless,
Downtrodden slaves and grand princess.
I wrote equally for husbands and wives,
For the degraded and those risen high,
For rulers and for the oppressed,
For abusers and for the abused,
For those who give comfort and those who are comforted,
I wrote equally for those on horseback and on foot,
For the insignificant and for the great,
For city-dwellers and half-savage highlanders,
And for him who is the supreme ruler,
Whose judge is God alone,
For people who are vain and those who are pious,
For monks and holy hermits.
May these verses, full of my suffering,
Become a guidance to someone.
May one who repents a black transgression
Find comfort in my writings.
May someone turn to their good
My work, my zeal.
May my verse, turning into a prayer and a supplication,
Elicit God’s mercy.
—Gregory of Narek, from the Book of Lamentations
”
My heart is grieved by all I cannot save
So much has been destroyed;
I have to cast my loss with all those
who age after age
with no extraordinary power
reconstitute the world.
—Adrienne Rich
Excellent, more excellence is borrowing and slanting very slanting is light and secret and a recitation and emigration. Certainly shoals are shallow and nonsense more nonsense is sullen. Very little cake is water, very little cake has that
escape.
Sugar any sugar, anger every anger, lover sermon lover, centre no distractor, all order is in a measure.
Left over to be a lamp light, left over in victory, left over in saving, all this and negligence and bent wood and more even much more is not so exact as a pen and a turtle and even, certainly, and even a piece of the same experience as more.
To consider a lecture, to consider it well is so anxious and so much a charity and really supposing there is grain and if a stubble every stubble is urgent, will there not be a chance of legality. The sound is sickened and the price is purchased and golden what is golden, a clergyman, a single tax, a currency and an inner chamber.
—Gertrude Stein, from Tender Buttons
I can’t say everything about it
In just one single song
I can’t put how I feel in a package
And sell it back to everyone
But wait, there’s another boy genius who’s fucking gone
I hope the food tastes better in heaven
I know there’s lots of rad queer boys up there
And I hope that every time they talk to you
They know that they’re lucky to be your friend
‘Cause look there’s another boy genius who’s fucking gone
And I wouldn’t be so fuckin’ mad, so fuckin’ pissed off
If it wasn’t so fucking wrong
It’s all fucking wrong
IT’S NOT FAIR, IT’S NOT FAIR, IT’S NOT FAIR, IT’S NOT FAIR
But no one said life was easy
Yeah, but no one said
No one said that nothings s’posed to happen, right?
No, no one told me anything to prepare me for fucking this
There’s another boy genius who’s fucking gone
Don’t tell me it don’t matter
Don’t tell me it don’t matter
Don’t tell me I’ve had three days to get over it
It won’t go away
It just won’t go away
—Bikini Kill, “R.I.P.”
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you wake in the morning hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die!
—Mary Frye, “Andre’s Prayer”
We are loved by an unending love.
We are embraced by arms that find us
even when we are hidden from ourselves.
We are touched by fingers that soothe us
even when we are too sad for soothing.
We are counseled by voices that guide us
even when we are too embittered to hear.
We are loved by an unending love.
We are supported by hands that uplift us even the midst of a fall.
We are urged on by eyes that meet us even when we are too confused for meeting.
We are loved by an unending love.
Embraced, touched, soothed, and counseled -
Ours are the arms, the fingers, the voices;
Ours are the hands, the eyes, the smiles.
We are loved by an unending love.
—Rabbi Rami M. Shapiro, Kol Haneshamah
My heart is grieved by all I cannot save
So much has been destroyed;
I have to cast my loss with all those
who age after age
with no extraordinary power
reconstitute the world.
—Adrienne Rich
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