"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings."

-Cassius

"The eyes of others our prisons; their thoughts our cages."

 -Virginia Woolf

The Quarrel

by Linda Pastan

If there were a monument

to silence, it would not be

the tree whose leaves

murmur continuously

among themselves;

nor would it be the pond

whose seeming stillness

is shattered

by the quicksilver

surfacing of fish.

If there were a monument

to silence, it would be you

standing so upright, so unforgiving,

your mute back deflecting

every word I say.

poetryfoundation.org

The Obligation to be Happy

by Linda Pastan

It is more onerous

than the rites of beauty

or housework, harder than love.

But you expect it of me casually,

the way you expect the sun

to come up, not in spite of rain

or clouds but because of them.

And so I smile, as if my own fidelity

to sadness were a hidden vice—

that downward tug on my mouth,

my old suspicion that health

and love are brief irrelevancies,

no more than laughter in the warm dark

strangled at dawn.

Happiness. I try to hoist it

on my narrow shoulders again—

a knapsack heavy with gold coins.

I stumble around the house,

bump into things.

Only Midas himself

would understand.

Why Are Your Poems So Dark?

awesome awesome awesome

Proust's moon.

Sometimes in the afternoon sky a white moon would creep up like a little cloud, furtive, without display, suggesting an actress who does not have to 'come on' for a while, and so goes 'in front' in her ordinary clothes to watch the rest of the company for a moment, but keeps in the background, not wishing to attract attention to herself.


I have never read anything quite like this.

When two people part it is the one who is not in love who makes the tender speeches.

Going to church doesn't make you a Christian any more than standing in a garage makes you a car.