dancing rhythms

September 10, 2019

Tonight reality finally repudiated its margins, blurred into dream. We offered a libation to the moor, to the stones, to unknown Gods – to the deep night sky and the drunken poet who listens to the silence around him and the dancing rhythms of his own heart.

half-erased dream

September 6, 2019

Especially at twilight one lives in the fullest fantasy, a half-erased dream.

Federico García Lorca
August 1921 letter to Adolfo Salazar
Trans. P

On the bed

August 18, 2019

I open the bedroom door. The curtains stir. There you are
on the bed, like a gift, like a touchable dream.

Carol Ann Duffy
You

lustrous innocence

August 13, 2019

And why is it that sea is the sole element that dream can’t transform? Its translucency remains intact in the dark, in lustrous innocence.

Etel Adnan
Sea and Fog

long lost

June 29, 2019

The woods they do that to you, they always look familiar, long lost, like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream…

Jack Kerouac
Dharma Bums

Pink Velour Nightdress

March 10, 2019

The one who is not The One appears in your sleep.
Fling away longings, those squirmy deep-sea creatures.
Does the cat follow you because you feed her or is she a haint?
By day you walk cool aisles buying anemones and fruit.
To work under the spell is not the same as working under the dream.

Judith Taylor

not my dream

March 2, 2019

Sometimes everything seems just like a dream. It’s not my dream, but someone else’s, that I have to participate in. What happens when the one who dreamt us wakes up and feels ashamed?

Ingmar Bergman
Shame

beginning life

February 10, 2019

I dream so much and I live so little, that sometimes I am only three years old. But, the next day I am three hundred, if the dream has been sombre. Isn’t it the same with you? Doesn’t it seem at moments, that you are beginning life without even knowing what it is, and at other times don’t you feel over you the weight of several thousand centuries, of which you have a vague remembrance and a sorrowful impression?

George Sand
Letter to Gustave Flaubert, 28 September 1866

a bridge across our fears

January 30, 2019

Poetry is not only dream and vision; it is the skeleton architecture of our lives. It lays the foundations for a future of change, a bridge across our fears of what has never been before.

Audre Lorde
Poetry Is Not a Luxury

Cherry Pie Daydreams

January 15, 2019

In this dream, we are baking cherry pies.
We are baking cherry pies in the middle of a sunlit kitchen and leaving them to cool on the windowsill.
I want to say that there is sunshine spilling everywhere.
I want to say that it’s falling out of the gaps between your teeth because it probably is.
How could it not be?
In this dream I put my mouth on your mouth and try to catch all of that happiness with my tongue,
we play soft music that sounds like sighing
and I breathe like a paper bird rustling
against your tongue.
Did I say that there is a meadow in my stomach?
Did I tell you that you were every flower inside of it?
I don’t know, it doesn’t matter. You knew,
how could you not?
In this dream, you are probably licking my fingertips clean,
and we are dripping cherry jam on the counters.
In this dream we are dancing barefoot on a wooden floor,
tangled so far inside of each other like knitting string.
I am kissing your shoulders
and paying special attention to the dusk setting in your hollows.
I am sticking my fingers in your belly button,
and your ears and right there, where you’re all ribs.
In this dream, we are belly full,
I’ll kiss your knees and I’ll stroke your hips,
I’ll comb your hair.
In this dream, we sit side by side and hold hands
and knock our bodies like bowling pins.
In this dream I’ll feed you cherry pie with my fingers,
you’ll kiss me with your mouth wide open,
we’ll taste that sweetness everywhere,
how could we not?

Azra Tabassum