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When I was four years old my mother led me to the park. The spring sunshine was not too warm. The street was almost empty. The witch in my fairy-book came walking along. She stooped to fish some mouldy grapes out of the gutter.
Charles Reznikoff -
Among the heaps of brick and plaster lies a girder, still itself among the rubbish
Charles Reznikoff
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The fish has too many bones and the watermelon too many seeds.
Charles Reznikoff -
By all means, then, let us have psalms and days of dedication anew to the old causes
Charles Reznikoff -
The street curves in and out, up and down in great waves of asphalt; at night the granite tomb is noisy with starlings like the creaking of many axles; only the tired walker know how much there is to climb, how the sidewalk curves into the cold wind.
Charles Reznikoff -
Not the five feet of water to your chin but the inch above the tip of your nose.
Charles Reznikoff -
The miracle, of course, was not that the oil for the sacred light - in a little cruse - lasted as long as they say; but that the courage of the Maccabees lasted to this day: let that nourish my flickering spirit.
Charles Reznikoff -
The fingers of your thoughts are molding your face ceaselessly.
Charles Reznikoff