observando

quote blog

my name is axel marazzi and i eat words for breakfast.

these are my texts . about me . ask . instagram . twitter

I had been hungry all the years-
My noon had come, to dine-
I, trembling, drew the table near
And touched the curious wine.

'Twas this on tables I had seen
When turning, hungry, lone,
I looked in windows, for the wealth
I could not hope to own.

I did not know the ample bread,
‘Twas so unlike the crumb
The birds and I had often shared
In Nature’s diningroom.

The plenty hurt me, ‘twas so new,—
Myself felt ill and odd,
As berry of a mountain bush
Transplanted to the road.

Nor was I hungry; so I found
That hunger was a way
Of persons outside windows,
The entering takes away.

– Emily Dickinson

But I don’t shut up and I don’t die.
I live
and fight, maddening
those who rule my country.

For if I live
I fight,
and if I fight
I contribute to the dawn.

– Otto René Castillo

“One must read poetry with one’s nerves.”

– Wallace Stevens

“Poetry is a life-cherishing force.”

– Mary Oliver

“Love is like the wild rose-briar;
Friendship like the holly-tree.
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms,
But which will bloom most constantly?
The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring
,Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again,
And who will call the wild-briar fair?
Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now,
And deck thee with holly’s sheen,
That, when December blights thy brow,
He still may leave thy garland green.”

– Emily Dickinson

“A black cat among roses,
phlox, lilac-misted under a quarter moon,
the sweet smells of heliotrope and night-scented stock. The garden is very still.
It is dazed with moonlight,
contented with perfume…”

– Amy Lowell

“Love’s mysteries in souls do grow,
But yet the body is his book.”

– John Donne

“The inmost spirit of poetry, in other words, is at bottom, in every recorded case, the voice of pain – and the physical body, so to speak, of poetry, is the treatment by which the poet tries to reconcile that pain with the world.”

– Ted Hughes

“Quiero hacer contigo lo que la primavera hace con los cerezos.”

– Pablo Neruda

“The poet doesn’t invent. He listens.”

– Jean Cocteau