Tag: inspiration

Irène

"feu dans le sang"

(Fire in the blood)

"l'attente est érotique"

(The wait is erotic)

I wonder what you wrote just for you?

Between the margins?

Inside your address book?

I wonder how your letters were?

How many did you throw away?

Did you have secret lines

Only one person would understand?

—

I just reached 30

You’re 39

I wish I could ask you how this goes

—-

where loss is

How it feels

Did you feel it coming?

Did you write regardless ?

—-

I feel this guilt, like acid in my chest,

When I think about the things I don’t say

I reserve the right to write whatever I want…

—-

Nothing is permanent

And I think about that heat

I think about that loss

Like words,forgotten unused…

How many did we lose?

—-

I pour her tea

She writes on the sides of the pages of her journal

She has a novel she’s working on

She doesn’t think she’ll finish it

We can hear them coming

And it occurs to us

You can hear and feel

Life around you this

Absurd chess game we try so hard at

love coming

storms coming

These boots coming

She won’t finish this novel…

She’s 39 

feu dans le sang

I drink my tea

She’s here for a moment

I close my eyes

And

She’s gone

Like so many things

Blown away by a storm

—

The sun comes out

And I wonder

If we missed her,

I wonder how many more like her

We lost…

Quotes from

Irène Némirovsky

The Mill

The Bar.

“What’s up stoopid.”

Tara sat down across from me, her brown hair blocking the clock on the church across the street. Fortunately , part of the sun as well.

“What is that brain working on now? Who brings a book to a bar anyway?”

I stared. what do you want Tara?

I had to admit, it felt weird coming back home…the mills closed. Empty buildings, like coffins, waiting for their dead or a hotel with empty floors…just shadows of memory.

Tara smiled, lit a cigarette,

You know, you have to be 21 now.

Hey, we‘re all older.

She laughed.

I closed my book.

Asking myself why I came back home…but I really, already knew.

Maybe that was what bothered me.

Tara hadn’t changed that much. She had a way of moving through the weights and the hard moments. Seemingly unscathed.

I was not so lucky.

I took a breath. Feeling flashes of my childhood walking past me in the street.

Bleeding Ink (drowning)

This room slowly fills with water

I’m adrift

Not at peace

Just adrift

Hollowed gray

My insides have long burned out

As have my eyes

I listen to the words in my head

The birds of prey

Fall from this night sky

—-

Similar

(Whispers)

(Voices)

Echoes

From outside the door

I can feel myself

Getting bad again

I am becoming

The me

That you never

knew

He hasn’t been around much

I am trying

Against all pain

The room drowns out

All the daylight

I keep giving away …

Giving away

I’m going away

(I’ll never say)

(Hiding)

It’s all so clear

The room disappears

—-

And all the time

Falls from the clock in the kitchen

Where we hid our weapons

Even you

Can use

And

I won’t confess

It’s a drowning

I’ll write no words

All this time

All this time…

While the words remain

Why is there no happiness …

I’ve only found true happiness

While writing.

Take me away

With your x-ray eyes

Tonight

Don’t look away

—

Out of the moon

I heard

The devil say

—-

Don’t lock me away tonight

Paths of destruction

We need a revolution

Dylan said a hard rain’s gonna fall

—

Why is there no happiness

Why is time a sleeper

When our soul’s on fire

Hearts desire

There’s no answer

And the words remain the same

We can walk these streets

All night

The words

Remain

The same