“I ask myself what is the sound of women? What is the word for that still thing I have hunted inside them for so long? Deep inside the avalanche of joy, the thing deeper in the dark, and deeper still in the bed where we are lost. Deeper, deeper down where a woman's heart is holding its breath, where something very far away in that body is becoming something we don't have a name for.” HeartLongStillsBodyJoyAsksNamesLostSoundWomenDarkBecomingBedBreathsDeeperFar AwayDeep InsideHuntedAvalanchesBecoming SomethingLong Deep Book:Refusing Heaven Source: Refusing Heaven
“Are the angels of her bed the angels who come near me alone in mine? Are the green trees in her window the color is see in ripe plums? If she always sees backward and upside down without knowing it what chance do we have? I am haunted by the feeling that she is saying melting lords of death, avalanches, rivers and moments of passing through, And I am replying, "Yes, yes. Shoes and pudding.” IfsMomentsFeelingsChanceLordKnowingTreeMinesColorBedAngelRiversWindowGreenShoesPassingPassingsMeltingRipeUpside DownMe AlonePassing ThroughPuddingPlumsAvalanchesGreen TreesReplying Book:Collected Poems Source: Collected Poems
“Duende I can't remember her name. It's not as though I've been in bed with that many women. The truth is I can't even remember her face. I kind of know how strong her thighs were, and her beauty. But what I won't forget is the way she tore open the barbecued chicken with her hands, and wiped the grease on her breasts.” KnowsWayKindI CanHandsRememberFacesNamesStrongForgetKnow HowTruth IsBedBreastsChickensThighsHer BeautyGrease Author:Jack Gilbert
