poemakontsa
@poemakontsa.bsky.social
2024-25 Pushcart heartbreak nominee.
You know: I have to give you up again
And I can't.
I am after the lost sign, the single
pledge you graced me with.
And hell is certain
You know: I have to give you up again
And I can't.
I am after the lost sign, the single
pledge you graced me with.
And hell is certain
Pinned
poemakontsa
@poemakontsa.bsky.social
· Aug 21
The language of longing isn't in writing. It's a braille made of absent touching and skin
Reposted by poemakontsa
Remember: It ys okaye to be lonely. It ys okaye to feel lost. It ys okaye to be sad. It ys okaye to have no plannes or just small plannes. It ys okaye to have big plannes that seem exhausting. It ys okaye to be a mess. Take care of thyself. Thou art amazinge.
November 27, 2025 at 12:07 AM
Remember: It ys okaye to be lonely. It ys okaye to feel lost. It ys okaye to be sad. It ys okaye to have no plannes or just small plannes. It ys okaye to have big plannes that seem exhausting. It ys okaye to be a mess. Take care of thyself. Thou art amazinge.
🎵 They are writing songs of love
But not for me 🎵
But not for me 🎵
November 27, 2025 at 12:09 AM
🎵 They are writing songs of love
But not for me 🎵
But not for me 🎵
Reposted by poemakontsa
Find someone who loves you as much as J.D. Salinger loved italics.
November 26, 2025 at 6:08 PM
Find someone who loves you as much as J.D. Salinger loved italics.
Reposted by poemakontsa
Good morning with this James Wright which is among my dearest of his.
The Jewel
There is this cave
In the air behind my body
That nobody is going to touch
The Jewel
There is this cave
In the air behind my body
That nobody is going to touch
November 26, 2025 at 2:39 PM
Good morning with this James Wright which is among my dearest of his.
The Jewel
There is this cave
In the air behind my body
That nobody is going to touch
The Jewel
There is this cave
In the air behind my body
That nobody is going to touch
Say hi to my firstborn
November 26, 2025 at 9:04 PM
Say hi to my firstborn
Apropos of nothing, here is a list of some of my dearest American poets listed haphazardly
James Wright
Charles Wright
Deborah Digges
Frank O'Hara
Sylvia Plath
Diane Seuss
Hayden Carruth
Linda Pastan
James Wright
Charles Wright
Deborah Digges
Frank O'Hara
Sylvia Plath
Diane Seuss
Hayden Carruth
Linda Pastan
November 26, 2025 at 4:50 PM
Apropos of nothing, here is a list of some of my dearest American poets listed haphazardly
James Wright
Charles Wright
Deborah Digges
Frank O'Hara
Sylvia Plath
Diane Seuss
Hayden Carruth
Linda Pastan
James Wright
Charles Wright
Deborah Digges
Frank O'Hara
Sylvia Plath
Diane Seuss
Hayden Carruth
Linda Pastan
Good morning with this James Wright which is among my dearest of his.
The Jewel
There is this cave
In the air behind my body
That nobody is going to touch
The Jewel
There is this cave
In the air behind my body
That nobody is going to touch
November 26, 2025 at 2:39 PM
Good morning with this James Wright which is among my dearest of his.
The Jewel
There is this cave
In the air behind my body
That nobody is going to touch
The Jewel
There is this cave
In the air behind my body
That nobody is going to touch
Reposted by poemakontsa
"I took advantage of the librarian's distraction to hide The Book of Sand on one of the library's damp shelves; I tried not to notice how high up, or how far from the door.
I now feel a little better, but I refuse to even walk down the street the library's on."
I now feel a little better, but I refuse to even walk down the street the library's on."
November 26, 2025 at 2:16 PM
"I took advantage of the librarian's distraction to hide The Book of Sand on one of the library's damp shelves; I tried not to notice how high up, or how far from the door.
I now feel a little better, but I refuse to even walk down the street the library's on."
I now feel a little better, but I refuse to even walk down the street the library's on."
Reposted by poemakontsa
A cry pierces the night in the obverse of things
crawling down the tinctures, smudging of abyss, dying black
the lights of the streets
the carefree windows of condos
smiles of clarified teeth
nero di seppia
our plaster happiness
Blessed be the blind
who see
even
in the darkness.
crawling down the tinctures, smudging of abyss, dying black
the lights of the streets
the carefree windows of condos
smiles of clarified teeth
nero di seppia
our plaster happiness
Blessed be the blind
who see
even
in the darkness.
November 26, 2025 at 2:25 AM
A cry pierces the night in the obverse of things
crawling down the tinctures, smudging of abyss, dying black
the lights of the streets
the carefree windows of condos
smiles of clarified teeth
nero di seppia
our plaster happiness
Blessed be the blind
who see
even
in the darkness.
crawling down the tinctures, smudging of abyss, dying black
the lights of the streets
the carefree windows of condos
smiles of clarified teeth
nero di seppia
our plaster happiness
Blessed be the blind
who see
even
in the darkness.
Reposted by poemakontsa
One of my favorite Jack Gilbert. For this rainy day pouring longing...
Rain
Among all the people
your absence.
The people who are always
not you
Rain
Among all the people
your absence.
The people who are always
not you
November 25, 2025 at 6:45 PM
One of my favorite Jack Gilbert. For this rainy day pouring longing...
Rain
Among all the people
your absence.
The people who are always
not you
Rain
Among all the people
your absence.
The people who are always
not you
Reposted by poemakontsa
Herberto Helder
My translation
_ And then I do not know how to tell you
by the goblet of stone of your too young silence
When children wake up by the frightened moons
which fall headlong in the midst of time
_ I then do not know how to tell you of how the innocence,
inside of me, calls after you.
My translation
_ And then I do not know how to tell you
by the goblet of stone of your too young silence
When children wake up by the frightened moons
which fall headlong in the midst of time
_ I then do not know how to tell you of how the innocence,
inside of me, calls after you.
November 26, 2025 at 12:28 AM
Herberto Helder
My translation
_ And then I do not know how to tell you
by the goblet of stone of your too young silence
When children wake up by the frightened moons
which fall headlong in the midst of time
_ I then do not know how to tell you of how the innocence,
inside of me, calls after you.
My translation
_ And then I do not know how to tell you
by the goblet of stone of your too young silence
When children wake up by the frightened moons
which fall headlong in the midst of time
_ I then do not know how to tell you of how the innocence,
inside of me, calls after you.
A cry pierces the night in the obverse of things
crawling down the tinctures, smudging of abyss, dying black
the lights of the streets
the carefree windows of condos
smiles of clarified teeth
nero di seppia
our plaster happiness
Blessed be the blind
who see
even
in the darkness.
crawling down the tinctures, smudging of abyss, dying black
the lights of the streets
the carefree windows of condos
smiles of clarified teeth
nero di seppia
our plaster happiness
Blessed be the blind
who see
even
in the darkness.
November 26, 2025 at 2:25 AM
A cry pierces the night in the obverse of things
crawling down the tinctures, smudging of abyss, dying black
the lights of the streets
the carefree windows of condos
smiles of clarified teeth
nero di seppia
our plaster happiness
Blessed be the blind
who see
even
in the darkness.
crawling down the tinctures, smudging of abyss, dying black
the lights of the streets
the carefree windows of condos
smiles of clarified teeth
nero di seppia
our plaster happiness
Blessed be the blind
who see
even
in the darkness.
Herberto Helder
My translation
_ And then I do not know how to tell you
by the goblet of stone of your too young silence
When children wake up by the frightened moons
which fall headlong in the midst of time
_ I then do not know how to tell you of how the innocence,
inside of me, calls after you.
My translation
_ And then I do not know how to tell you
by the goblet of stone of your too young silence
When children wake up by the frightened moons
which fall headlong in the midst of time
_ I then do not know how to tell you of how the innocence,
inside of me, calls after you.
November 26, 2025 at 12:28 AM
Herberto Helder
My translation
_ And then I do not know how to tell you
by the goblet of stone of your too young silence
When children wake up by the frightened moons
which fall headlong in the midst of time
_ I then do not know how to tell you of how the innocence,
inside of me, calls after you.
My translation
_ And then I do not know how to tell you
by the goblet of stone of your too young silence
When children wake up by the frightened moons
which fall headlong in the midst of time
_ I then do not know how to tell you of how the innocence,
inside of me, calls after you.
Attempting to translate some poems of the formidable and not sufficiently translated Portuguese poet Herberto Helder.
Some excerpts to come.
Some excerpts to come.
November 26, 2025 at 12:13 AM
Attempting to translate some poems of the formidable and not sufficiently translated Portuguese poet Herberto Helder.
Some excerpts to come.
Some excerpts to come.
That time of the night I remind you how good and how sacred is Rainer Maria Rilke's poem You Who Never Arrived.
I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of the next
moment...
you, who forever elude me.
I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of the next
moment...
you, who forever elude me.
November 25, 2025 at 11:41 PM
That time of the night I remind you how good and how sacred is Rainer Maria Rilke's poem You Who Never Arrived.
I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of the next
moment...
you, who forever elude me.
I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of the next
moment...
you, who forever elude me.
Reposted by poemakontsa
Dunes, by Portuguese poet Carlos de Oliveira.
Tr. Alex Levitin
To count the grains of sand in these dunes is my present task. I never imagined they were so similar, in their imponderable minuteness
Tr. Alex Levitin
To count the grains of sand in these dunes is my present task. I never imagined they were so similar, in their imponderable minuteness
November 24, 2025 at 9:28 PM
Dunes, by Portuguese poet Carlos de Oliveira.
Tr. Alex Levitin
To count the grains of sand in these dunes is my present task. I never imagined they were so similar, in their imponderable minuteness
Tr. Alex Levitin
To count the grains of sand in these dunes is my present task. I never imagined they were so similar, in their imponderable minuteness
Reposted by poemakontsa
George Tooker. Voz I, 1963
November 25, 2025 at 7:31 PM
George Tooker. Voz I, 1963
One of my favorite Jack Gilbert. For this rainy day pouring longing...
Rain
Among all the people
your absence.
The people who are always
not you
Rain
Among all the people
your absence.
The people who are always
not you
November 25, 2025 at 6:45 PM
One of my favorite Jack Gilbert. For this rainy day pouring longing...
Rain
Among all the people
your absence.
The people who are always
not you
Rain
Among all the people
your absence.
The people who are always
not you
Reposted by poemakontsa
Google at its peak was basically the best information retrieval system in human history and they and every competitor decided going from there to “you didn’t want answers you wanted half-assed auto-complete 80%-wrong hallucinations” in a few years was the right idea
November 25, 2025 at 1:57 AM
Google at its peak was basically the best information retrieval system in human history and they and every competitor decided going from there to “you didn’t want answers you wanted half-assed auto-complete 80%-wrong hallucinations” in a few years was the right idea
Reposted by poemakontsa
This sucks; what are we even doing?
November 25, 2025 at 4:58 PM
This sucks; what are we even doing?
Reposted by poemakontsa
A list of poets who died by either walking or drowning on the sea (river)
Ingrid Jonker, Cape Town (07-19-65)
Paul Celan, Seine (04-20-1970)
Alfonsina Storni, Mar del Plata (10-25-38)
Hart Crane, Gulf of Mexico (04-26-1932)
On this, Diane Seuss' poem "I could do it, I could walk into the sea"
Ingrid Jonker, Cape Town (07-19-65)
Paul Celan, Seine (04-20-1970)
Alfonsina Storni, Mar del Plata (10-25-38)
Hart Crane, Gulf of Mexico (04-26-1932)
On this, Diane Seuss' poem "I could do it, I could walk into the sea"
November 24, 2025 at 3:42 PM
A list of poets who died by either walking or drowning on the sea (river)
Ingrid Jonker, Cape Town (07-19-65)
Paul Celan, Seine (04-20-1970)
Alfonsina Storni, Mar del Plata (10-25-38)
Hart Crane, Gulf of Mexico (04-26-1932)
On this, Diane Seuss' poem "I could do it, I could walk into the sea"
Ingrid Jonker, Cape Town (07-19-65)
Paul Celan, Seine (04-20-1970)
Alfonsina Storni, Mar del Plata (10-25-38)
Hart Crane, Gulf of Mexico (04-26-1932)
On this, Diane Seuss' poem "I could do it, I could walk into the sea"
Reposted by poemakontsa
Good evening with another poem by Portuguese Carlos de Oliveira in the original. (I don't have a copy of his Selected in English, unfortunately)
"Fleshy and naked you emerge, my life"
"Fleshy and naked you emerge, my life"
November 24, 2025 at 11:09 PM
Good evening with another poem by Portuguese Carlos de Oliveira in the original. (I don't have a copy of his Selected in English, unfortunately)
"Fleshy and naked you emerge, my life"
"Fleshy and naked you emerge, my life"
Reposted by poemakontsa
You arryve at your destinacioun but your onlye piece of luggage ys now full of German sausage. Thys ys the wurst case scenario.
November 25, 2025 at 4:42 PM
You arryve at your destinacioun but your onlye piece of luggage ys now full of German sausage. Thys ys the wurst case scenario.
Bonjour tristesse
November 25, 2025 at 2:11 PM
Bonjour tristesse
Reposted by poemakontsa
take this buzzfeed quiz to find out which horseman of the apocalypse you are
November 24, 2025 at 11:28 PM
take this buzzfeed quiz to find out which horseman of the apocalypse you are