#Alejandra Pizarnik

I have been born so much and twice as much have suffered  in the memory of here and there  -- Alejandra Pizarnik (1936 -1972),......

you walk away from the names that thread the silence of things  -- Alejandra Pizarnik (1936 -1972), “To Aurora and ...

a touch of dawn on the flowers leaves me drunk on nothing and on lilac light drunk, unmoving, certain  -- Alejandra ...

some time                some time perhaps I will leave without staying                 I will leave as someone who leaves ......

We live here with one hand on our throat. That nothing is possible was already known by those who invented rains and

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In the black sun of silence words turned golden.

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My endless fall into my endless fall where nobody waited for me for when I looked at who awaited me I saw nothing but myself.

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Every hour, every day, I prefer not to speak. Everyone a wax figure and I most of all, who am more other than they. All

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Something was falling into silence. My last word was I but I meant luminous dawn.

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What does it mean to translate oneself into words ? And long term projects of perfection; daily measuring the probable

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Silence, always silence, the gold coins of sleep.

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I write with eyes shut, I write with eyes open: let the wall collapse, let the wall turn river.

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beware the words (she said) they have a sharp edge they’ll cut your tongue off beware they’ll drown you

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embracing your shadow in a dream my bones arched like flowers.

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I write against fear. Against the clawed wind dwelling on my breath.

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If only I could always live in ecstasy, making the body of the poem with my body, rescuing every phrase with my days and weeks,...

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This spectral texture of darkness, this melody in the bones, this breath from diverse silences, this going down beneath ground,...

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A café full of empty chairs, lit up to the point of exasperation, the night in the shape of absence, the sky as if made

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the bad thing about life is that it’s not what we think, but not its opposite either.

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who lost me in the ghostly silence of words

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Love draws on my eyes the desired body like a knife thrower tattooing on the wall with fear and skill the still nakedness

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Things yellowed before my eyes just back from an autumn dream.

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Zone of perpetual vision. I crossed in a mysterious moan.

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Somebody is not enunciated. Somebody cannot attend herself. And you refused to acknowledge me when I told you what in me

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