en

May Sarton

May Sarton (1912–1995) was born on May 3 in Wondelgem, Belgium, and grew up in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Her first volume of poetry, Encounters in April, was published in 1937 and her first novel, The Single Hound, in 1938. Her novels A Shower of Summer Days, The Birth of a Grandfather, and Faithful Are the Wounds, as well as her poetry collection In Time Like Air, all received nominations for the National Book Award.An accomplished memoirist, Sarton came out as a lesbian in her 1965 book Mrs. Stevens Hears the Mermaids Singing. Her memoir Journal of a Solitude (1973) was an account of her experiences as a female artist. Sarton spent her later years in York, Maine, living and writing by the sea. In her last memoir, Endgame: A Journal of the Seventy-Ninth Year (1992), she shares her own personal thoughts on getting older. Her final poetry collection, Coming into Eighty, was published in 1994. Sarton died on July 16, 1995, in York, Maine.

Audiobooks

Quotes

horizonsofabysshas quoted8 months ago
Now we are able only to graph the flight;

For we never actually rose from the ground,
horizonsofabysshas quotedlast month
By Moonlight
We are true lovers without hope

Whose hearts are locked to time,

So lie with me on the grassy sward

On the cool black-shadowed slope,

For we’ll not sleep in a close warm room:

Whatever we are moving toward

An ample bed’s not our reward

Who are mad with the moon.

Wherever passionate love is leading

We’ll be discovering alone,

So little hope it can endure,

So wild, so deep, so dark the needing

That even fastened bone to bone,

We’ll not have lasting peace, that’s sure,

Nor any haven from despair

Who love by light of moon.

So come, though we shall never rest

In any house to call our own,

By any hearth we light and tend,

Lie here upon the cold earth’s breast

And lean your length hard on the stone:

Hearts break and they may also mend

But here until the certain end,

Wed me by light of moon.

Now the great open sky is ours

And the long light across the loam,

And we, gigantic hearts of dust,

Lie open like night-blooming flowers.

The homeless moon is our bright home,

And we shine too because we must,

Oh magic that we cannot trust,

The lovely changing moon!
Ivana Melgozahas quoted10 months ago
Portrait by Holbein
For E. B.
In a moment exaggeration,
the brilliant image
exploding in the mind,
will fade like fireworks,
leaving it dark.
But for this moment
your face is there,
landscape by lightning:
Your face is drawn in pencil,
startling the sense
with its perfected shape,
the tension of the outline,
the curious created purity—
used as a painter would, yourself,
interpreted and mastered—
the comment of the mind.

Impressions

horizonsofabyssshared an impression10 months ago
👍Worth reading

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    Halfway to Silence
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  • horizonsofabyssshared an impression10 months ago
    👍Worth reading

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