1.
Writing down your thoughts is both necessary and harmful. It leads to eccentricity, narcissism, preserves what should be let go. On the other hand, these notes intensify the inner life, which, left unexpressed, slips through your fingers. If only I could find a better kind of journal, humbler, one that would preserve the same thoughts, the same flesh of life, which is worth saving.
Anna Kamienska
2.
I write in order to comprehend, not to express myself.
Anna Kamienska
3.
Tell me what’s the difference
between hope and waiting
because my heart doesn’t know
It constantly cuts itself on the glass of waiting
It constantly gets lost in the fog of hope
Anna Kamienska
4.
This morning I suddenly catch myself: I'm not there, I'm so lost in thought, I don't know what's going on around me. Can you think yourself to death?
Anna Kamienska
5.
Even a painful longing is some form of presence.
Anna Kamienska
6.
My poems are more my silence than my speech. Just as music is a kind of quiet. Sounds are needed only to unveil the various layers of silence.
Anna Kamienska
7.
I’ve learned to value failed conversations, missed connections, confusions. What remains is what’s unsaid, what’s underneath. Understanding on another level of being.
Anna Kamienska
8.
Poetry is a presentiment of the truth.
Anna Kamienska
9.
We cling to words like drowning men to straws. But still we drown, we drown.
Anna Kamienska
10.
I’m moved by everything broken and crippled. Since that’s how we really are.
Anna Kamienska
11.
I returned
to confirm
there can be no return.
Anna Kamienska
12.
I have no talent. I write poems for myself, to think things through, that’s all.
Anna Kamienska
13.
There are things better left untouched by words.
Anna Kamienska
14.
I am that which lies beyond time. Like a melody, which sounds completely only after the last note is played.
Anna Kamienska
15.
I don’t write poetry when I wish, I write when I can’t, when my larynx is flooded and my throat is shut.
Anna Kamienska
16.
The way a source strains toward the light, toward the air. Its laboring work, its effort, its black passageways like despair. That’s the way a poet looks for words. With muscles, gestures.
Anna Kamienska
17.
Tell me what's the difference
Anna Kamienska
18.
Letters of the condemned. Last words scratched on a cell’s wall. To write like that.
Anna Kamienska
19.
Where your pain is, there your heart lies also.
Anna Kamienska