Poetry holds the knowledge that we are alive and that we know we're going to die, — Marie Howe Copy Share Image
Bedeviled, / human, your plight, in waking, is to choose from the words / that even now sleep on your tongue, and… — Marie Howe Copy Share Image
When we think we have something to say we are usually wrong. We are fooling ourselves. Trip into discovery. Don't write what… — Marie Howe Copy Share Image
“Even If I Don’t See it Again Even if I don’t see it again.–nor ever feel it I know it is–and that if once… — Marie Howe Copy Share Image
“I remember a man, a very lonely man, coming up to me at the end of a reading and looking into my face and… — Marie Howe Copy Share Image
Poetry holds the knowledge that we are alive and that we know we're going to die, — Marie Howe Copy Share Image
“I had no idea that the gate I would step through to finally enter this world would be the space my brother’s body made.” — Marie Howe Copy Share Image
“ WHAT THE LIVING DO Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there. And the Drano won't… — Marie Howe Copy Share Image
But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass, say, the window of the corner video store,… — Marie Howe Copy Share Image
Without devotion any life becomes a stranger's story...told for the body to forget what it once loved. — Marie Howe Copy Share Image
Every poem holds the unspeakable inside it. The unsayable... The thing that you can't really say because it's too complicated. It's too complex for… — Marie Howe Copy Share Image
