Between us there is but a narrow wall, 
and by sheer chance; for it would take
merely a call from your lips or from mine
to break it down,
and that without a sound.

The wall is builded of your images.

They stand before you hiding you like names, 
And when the light within me blazes high 
that in my inmost soul I know you by,
the radiance is squandered on their frames.

And then my senses, which too soon grow lame, 
exiled from you, must go their homeless ways. 

– Rainer Maria Rilke 

(here for the original)

Marissa Nadler covering Daniel Johnston 

“Nothing is created.  Everything is transformed.” 

– Antoine Lavoisier

Ask a Grown Man: Thom Yorke and Nigel Godrich from Rookie on Vimeo.

Some days, although we cannot pray, a prayer
utters itself. So, a woman will lift
her head from the sieve of her hands and stare
at the minims sung by a tree, a sudden gift.

Some nights, although we are faithless, the truth
enters our hearts, that small familiar pain;
then a man will stand stock-still, hearing his youth
in the distant Latin chanting of a train.

Pray for us now. Grade 1 piano scales
console the lodger looking out across
a Midlands town. Then dusk, and someone calls
a child’s name as though they named their loss.

Darkness outside. Inside, the radio’s prayer –
Rockall. Malin. Dogger. Finisterre.

— Carol Ann Duffy