I see him across the street, the blind man, and now he says he can find his way. He knows where he is going, it is nowhere, it is filled with presences. He says, I am. — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
A blind man. I can stare at him ashamed, shameless. Or does he know it? No, he is in a great solitude. O, strange joy, to gaze my fill at a stranger's face. No, my thirst is greater than before. — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
Death and pain dominate this world, for though many are cured, they leave still weak, still tremulous, still knowing mortality has whispered to them;… — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
I believe every space and comma is a living part of the poem and has its function, just as every muscle and pore of… — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
Each part of speech a spark awaiting redemption, each a virtue, a power in abeyance. — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
It is fatal to one's artistic life to talk about something this is in process. — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
If woman is inconstant, good, I am faithful to ebb and flow, I fall in season and now is a time of ripening. — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
Putting his hope in certain death, lowering his head again to the grass. — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
slowly the pale dew-beads of light lapped up from flowers can thicken, darken to gold: honey of the human. — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
“I am, a shadow that grows longer as the sun moves, drawn out on a thread of wonder. If I bear burdens they begin… — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
In city, in suburb, in forest, no way to stretch out the arms - so if you would grow, go straight up or deep… — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
I like to find what's not found at once, but lies within something of another nature, in repose, distinct. — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
There is no savor more sweet, more salt than to be glad to be what, woman, and who, myself, I am... — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
