Poetry is a lousy form of activism; it doesn't really change much. And maybe we can point to one or two historical times when a poem has started a revolution or a rebellion or an uprising, but it doesn't happen… — Daphne Gottlieb Copy Share Image
Poetry is a lousy form of activism; it doesn't really change much. And maybe we can point to one or two historical times when… — Daphne Gottlieb Copy Share Image
“ I KNEW IT WAS OVER when tonight you couldn't make the phone ring when you used to make the sun rise when trees used to throw themselves in front of you to be paper for love letters that was how i knew i had to do it swaddle the kids we never had against january's cold slice bundle them… — Daphne Gottlieb Copy Share
Love - at least the pair-bonded, prescribed love - does not conquer all. — Daphne Gottlieb Copy Share Image
“This week in live current events: your eyes. All power can be dangerous: Direct or alternating, you, socket to me. Plugged in and the grid is humming, this electricity, molecule-deep desire: particular friction, a charge strong enough to stop a heart or start it again; volt, re-volt-- I shudder, I stutter, I start to life. I've got my ion you,… — Daphne Gottlieb Copy Share
I go through periods of not writing. Until there's something I can't find in the world that I need, so I write. — Daphne Gottlieb Copy Share Image
There is nothing going on. I took nothing you wanted. You can't have it back. — Daphne Gottlieb Copy Share Image
I'm entranced by the idea of reading the culture back to itself, because I'm conscious that we as people and also as a culture… — Daphne Gottlieb Copy Share Image
I go in and out of season. I won't write for months, and then all of a sudden, I'll write like I've got a… — Daphne Gottlieb Copy Share Image
you can take this mouth this wound you want but you can't kiss and make it better. — Daphne Gottlieb Copy Share Image
“As she bends for a Kleenex in the dark, I am thinking of other girls: the girl I loved who fell in love with a lion--she lost her head over it--we just necked a lot; of the girl who fell in love with the tightrope, got addicted to getting high wired and nothing else was enough; all the beautiful, damaged… — Daphne Gottlieb Copy Share
