Posts tagged charles simic.

[My touch is on the highest mast.]
It cries at four in the morning
For a lantern to be lit
On the rim of the world.


    — Charles Simic, from “The Body

Posted by weissewiese
  










May 9 - Charles Simic

Bio: Charles Simic was born in Belgrade, Yugoslavia. He is known for his work as a poet, editor, translator, and essayist. He was selected to be the fifteenth Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress. In his poems, Simic draws on his experiences of growing up in wartorn Eastern Europe and of travelling to France and the United States in his teenage years — his poems explore the themes of displacement and estrangement. His poetry is often described as ‘surreal’ or ‘nightmarish’. [1

Anecdotes:

  • Simic has published over sixty books, including twenty collections of poetry. [3]
  • New York is Simic’s favourite city. He described the city as looking like “painted sets in a sideshow at a carnival where the bearded lady, sword-swallowers, snake charmers, and magicians make their appearances.” [2]
  • Even though he did not learn English until he was fifteen [3], Simic always wrote in English because he wanted his friends and the girls he was in love with to understand what he was writing. [2]

Final sentences:

The heavens did their part
By casting no shadow along the boardwalk
Or the row of vacant cottages,
Among them a small church
With a dozen gray tombstones huddled close
As if they, too, had the shivers.

from “Late September

[The books are whispering.]
I hear nothing, but she does.

from “In the Library

[The night suddenly upon us, a starless night.
You lighting a candle, carrying it naked
Into our bedroom and blowing it out quickly.]
The dark pines and grasses strangely still.

from “Clouds Gathering

[My touch is on the highest mast.]
It cries at four in the morning
For a lantern to be lit
On the rim of the world.

from “The Body


Posted by weissewiese
  










The heavens did their part
By casting no shadow along the boardwalk
Or the row of vacant cottages,
Among them a small church
With a dozen gray tombstones huddled close
As if they, too, had the shivers.


    — Charles Simic, from “Late September (via airwalker)

Posted by blogut
  










[The books are whispering.]
I hear nothing, but she does.


    — Charles Simic, from In the Library

Posted by weissewiese
  










[The night suddenly upon us, a starless night.
You lighting a candle, carrying it naked
Into our bedroom and blowing it out quickly.]
The dark pines and grasses strangely still.


    — Charles Simic, from “Clouds Gathering

Posted by heliophobus