I don't think any poetry is written that isn't primarily written to the self, in a way... I'm always talking to myself. But I seem to want somebody else to listen to it. I need, I do want an audience.… — Kay Ryan Copy Share Image
A too closely watched flower/blossoms the wrong color./Excess attention to the jonquil/turns it gentian. Flowers/need it tranquil to get/their hues right. Some/only open at… — Kay Ryan Copy Share Image
I simply want to celebrate the fact that right near your home, year in and year out, a community college is quietly - and… — Kay Ryan Copy Share Image
The day misspent, the love misplaced, has inside it the seed of redemption. Nothing is exempt from resurrection. — Kay Ryan Copy Share Image
“ Stardust is the hardest thing to hold out for. You must make of yourself a perfect plane- something still upon which something settles-… — Kay Ryan Copy Share Image
What keeps me writing is that I can only know through writing. My major sense organ is apparently a pencil. — Kay Ryan Copy Share Image
Forgetting takes space./Forgotten matters displace/as much anything else as/anything else. We must/skirt unlabeled crates/as thought it made sense/and take them when we go/to other… — Kay Ryan Copy Share Image
“The Self Is Not Portable The self is not portable. It cannot be packed. It comes sneaking back to any place from which it's… — Kay Ryan Copy Share Image
Who would have guessed it possible that waiting is sustainable. A place with its own harvest. — Kay Ryan Copy Share Image
Gaps don't/just happen./There is a/generative element/inside them,/a welling motion/ as when cold/waters shoulder/up through/warmer oceans./And where gaps/choose to widen,/coordinates warp,/even in places/constant since/the oldest… — Kay Ryan Copy Share Image
“Hide and Seek It's hard not to jump out instead of waiting to be found. It's hard to be alone so long and then… — Kay Ryan Copy Share Image
