{Cole Swenson, Gravesend}
"It hung on the salty wind like a scrap of tune from a hymnal, a hymn about burdens that could not be laid down."
{Joy Williams, The Changeling}
February almost March bites the cold.
Take down a book, wind pours in…{Lorine Niedecker}
(Via mythologyofblue)
{Anne Carson}
Here, the dunes wander.
"There is the story of Somerset Maugham reading Proust while crossing the desert by camel, and to lighten his load he tore out each page after reading both sides and let it fall behind him — one wants to say the wind was involved, but on most days, there was no wind. With or without wind, who had a more memorable reading experience, Somerset Maugham or the one who came after him, the one who found and read a page here, a page there, in some strange new order with stellar gaps?"
{Mary Ruefle, Someone Reading a Book}
The Names of Winds
{Articles of Inquisition Concerning the Winds, Sir Francis Bacon}
So that you keep yourself constant to them. One of you must hold still.
"Mescalaro territory is a flat region, no rivers, no trees, no grass. In August the winds begin and at that time everybody who can moves away. If you stayed, you couldn’t see the sun for weeks because, if opened, your eyes would be speckled and frosted with sand. Dust and sand stick to anything wet as your eyeball or a small dribble from your nostril, a flesh wound, even sweat on your shirt. A beard or mustache weighs three times as much after you are caught in the storms. You ears are so blocked that you cannot hear for a good while afterwards, which is just as well for all there is the long constant screech and scream of wind carrying anything it can lift."
{Michael Ondaatje, The Collected Works of Billy the Kid}
"I am alive and I do not conclude. Life does not conclude. And life knows nothing of names. This tree, tremulous pulse of new leaves. I am this tree. Tree, cloud; tomorrow book or wind: the book I read, the wind I drink. All outside, wandering."
Pirandello, One, No One, & One Hundred Thousand (via invisiblestories)
An image stops time, but wind emphasizes its relentless continuing.
{Christine Hume, Ventifacts}
{Image: Weather vanes on Cape Cod. Photograph by Alfred Eisenstaedt. Chatham, Massachusetts, 1940.}
(Source: legrandcirque)
"42: ‘Rend it in tatters,’ H.D. asks of the wind in the poem."
{The H.D Book by Robert Duncan, via Invisible Stories}
1. The final page of The Notebooks of Percy Bysshe Shelley
2. Villette (Chapter XLII, Finis)
