“Let it go, let it leave, let it happen. Nothing in this world was promised or belonged to you anyway.”
— Rupi Kaur
“Poetry is a state. A sort of vagabondage. When I was three years old, one evening I went out of the house on my own, to try to bring back the moonlight in my parents’ champagne bucket. That’s what poetry is.
When I write, it is a bit like a transfusion. Nothing in the least intellectual about it. My words are extinguished lamps.”
Claude de Burine, from “The Green Notebook,” published c. 1980 (x)
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