Quote

the rest of my days I spend wandering: wondering what, anyway, was that sticky infusion, that rank flavor of blood, that poetry, by which I lived?

Galway Kinnell

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Galway Kinnell
Age: 87 †
Born: 1927
Born: February 1
Died: 2014
Died: October 28
Poet
Translator
University Teacher
Writer
Providence
Rhode Island
Galway Mills Kinnell
Poetry
Rank
Rest
Wondering
Flavor
Blood
Wander
Days
Anyway
Wonder
Lived
Infusion
Poet
Sticky
Spend
Wandering

More quotes by Galway Kinnell

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this one whom habit of memory propels to the ground of his making, sleeper only the mortal sounds can sing awake, this blessing love gives again into our arms.
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The first step in the journey is to lose your way.
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I start off but I don't know where I'm going I try this avenue and that avenue, that turns out to be a dead end, this is a dead end, and so on. The search takes a long time and I have to back-track often.
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The bud stands for all things, even for those things that don't flower
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I will find that special person who is wrong for me in just the right way.
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Thats the way it is with poetry: When it is incomprehensible it seems profound, and when you understand it, it is only ridiculous.
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Let our scars fall in love.
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Goodbye, you who are, for me, the postmarks again of shattered towns--Xenia, Burnt Cabins, Hornell-- their loneliness given away in poems, only their solitude kept.
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Kiss the mouth which tells you, here, here is the world. This mouth. This laughter. These temple bones.
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The first step... shall be to lose the way.
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Go so deep into yourself, you speak for everyone.
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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.
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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.
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Sometimes it is necessary To reteach a thing its loveliness
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There are two versions to every poem – the crying version and the straight version
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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