The night knows nothing of the chants of night.
It is what it is as I am what I am:
And in perceiving this I best perceive myself
And you. Only we two may interchange
Each in the other what each has to give.
Only we two are one, not you and night,
Nor night and I, but you and I, alone,
So much alone, so deeply by ourselves,
So far beyond the casual solitudes,
That night is only the background of our selves,
Supremely true each to its separate self,
In the pale light that each upon the other throws.
Wallace Stevens, Re-Statement of Romance, 1935
image: Giacomo Balla – Poste
You don’t survive in me
because of memories;
nor are you mine because
of a lovely longing’s strength.
What does make you present
is the ardent detour
that a slow tenderness
traces in my blood.
I do not need
to see you appear;
being born sufficed for me
to lose you a little less.
Rainer Maria Rilke
image: Moon Kissed — Endymion by Arthur Wardle RBI RBA, 1864-1949.
I’m awaiting a lover. I have to be rent and pulled apart and live according to the demons and the imagination in me. I’m restless. Things are calling me away. My hair is being pulled by the stars again.
― Anaïs Nin, From “A Journal of Love” The Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1934-1937
image: L’age d’or, 1930. Luis Buñuel