Poetry Quotes - Page 84

If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.

April is the cruelest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixingMemory and desire, stirringDull roots with spring rain.Winter kept us warm, coveringEarth in forgetful snow, feedingA little life with dried tubers.Summer surprised us, coming over the StarnbergerseeWith a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch. And when we were children, staying at the arch-duke's,My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,And I was frightened. He said, Marie,Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.In the mountains, there you feel free.I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

T.S Eliot

In the very essence of poetry there is something indecent; A thing brought forth that we didn't know we had in us, So we blink our eyes, as if a tiger had sprung out And stood in the light, licking its tail.

Czesław Miłosz

Henceforth an individual solace dear; Part of my Soul I seek thee, and thee claim My other half: with that thy gentle hand Seisd mine, I yielded, and from that time see How beauty is excelld by manly grace.

John Milton

Straight between them ran the pathway,Never grew the grass upon it

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

O friend unseen, unborn, unknown,Student of our sweet English tongue,Read out my words at night, alone:I was a poet, I was young.Since I can never see your face,And never shake you by the hand,I send my soul through time and spaceTo greet you. You will understand.

James Elroy Flecker

Spend all you have for loveliness,Buy it and never count the cost;For one white singing hour of peaceCount many a year of strife well lost,And for a breath of ecstasyGive all you have been, or could be.

Sara Teasdale

Then all the charm Is broken--all that phantom-world so fair Vanishes, and a thousand circlets spread, And each mis-shape the other.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Once upon a timeI fell in loveLost myselfAnd find another one.

Arzum Uzun

One cannot make bargains for blissesOr catch them like fishes in netsAnd sometimes the things that life misses Help more than the things that it gets.

Alice Carey

We are each what never leaves us, what we never seethe back ofis the self. But what loves usis at the back, as Eurydice wasescorting him outwithout his knowing.

Christina Davis

in the afterglowof an evening raini lay downin the grass and think of youmy body acheslike an after-kissbreaking in soft firesand wildflowersmy dear, i will always bethis tender for you.

Sanober Khan

i'm glad to be alive in a world wherehis gently awakening eyesnourish the morning sun.

Sanober Khan

a silent night. - the most eloquent poem i have ever read.

Sanober Khan

Maple. MaypoleCatch and carry.Ash and Ember.Elderberry.Woolen. Woman.Moon at night.Willow. Window.Candlelight.Fallow farrow.Ash and oak.Bide and borrow.Chimney smoke.Barrel. Barley.Stone and stave.Wind and water.Misbehave.

Patrick Rothfuss

Let your love flow where the beautiful things are and something beautiful will always come your way.

Robert M. Drake

Poems can getsleepless tooand becomethe loneliest thingin the universe.

Sanober Khan

I have no riches but my thoughts, Yet these are wealth enough for me

Sara Teasdale

Let me remember you, soon will the winter be on us,Snow-hushed and heartless.

Sara Teasdale

Why does a heart wear its eyesinto helllike slivers of false sunshine

Fanny Howe

I will try to disappoint youbetter than anyone else has.

Stephen Dunn

And in the end,she left a scarand I knew that washow she wanted tobe remembered.She wanted to leaveher mark in theworldwithout gettingher heart tooattached to it.

Robert M. Drake

By the craggy hill-side,Through the mosses bare,They have planted thorn-treesFor pleasure here and there.If any man so daringAs dig them up in spite,He shall find their sharpest thornsIn his bed at night.

William Allingham

Go then, O my inseperable, this once more,

Donald Justice

On the shining yards of heavenSee a wider dawn unfurled. . . . The eternal slaves of beautyAre the masters of the world.

Bliss Carman

There have been times I've felt so much art in my soul I grew sick of artists.

Criss Jami

What do I care, in the dreams and the languor of spring,That my songs do not show me at all?For they are a fragrance, and I am a flint and a fire,I am an answer, they are only a call

Sara Teasdale

Every poet has his dream reader: mine keeps a look out for curious prosodic fauna like bacchics and choriambs.

W.H. Auden

what if I fall? oh, my darling, but if you fly?

Erin Hanson

i laced my shoes with sorrowand walked a weary roaddead end streetsdon't come undonewith double knots wing tipped shoesthat walk on airthrough vacant lots

Saul Williams

I drink from a small spring, my thirst exceeds the ocean.

Adam Zagajewski

Poetry is a sort of truancy, a dream within the dream of life, a wild flower planted among our wheat.

Michael Oakeshott

Title: Blue Light Lounge Sutra For The Performance Poets At Harold Park Hotelthe need gotta beso deep words can'tanswer simple questionsall night long notesstumble off the tongue& color the air indigoso deep fragments of gut& flesh cling to the songyou gotta get into itso deep salt crystalizes on eyelashesthe need gotta beso deep you can vomit up ghosts& not feel brokentill you are no morethan a half ounce of goldin painful brightnessyou gotta get into itblow that saxophoneso deep all the sex & dope in this worldcan't erase your needto howl against the skythe need gotta beso deep you can'tjust wiggle your hips& rise up out of itchaos in the cosmosmodern man in the pepperpotyou gotta get hookedinto every hungry grooveso deep the bomb lockedin rust opens like a fistinto it into it so deeprhythm is pre-memorythe need gotta be basicanimal need to see& know the terrorwe are made of honeycause if you wanna dancethis boogie be readyto let the devil use your headfor a drum

Yusef Komunyakaa

Your friends, and your associates, and the people around you, and the environment that you live in, and the speakers around you - the speakers around you - and the communicators around you, are the poetry makers.If your mother tells you stories, she is a poetry maker.If your father says stories, he is a poetry maker.If your grandma tells you stories, she is a poetry maker.And that’s who forms our poetics.

Juan Felipe Herrera

[P]oetry resembles metaphysics: one does not mind one's own, but one does not like anyone else's.

Samuel Butler

...if you do not even understand what words say, how can you expect to pass judgement on what words conceal?

H.D.

Even the moon is only poetical because there is a man in the moon.

G.K. Chesterton

My heart was full of softening showers,I used to swing like this for hours,I did not care for war or death,I was glad to draw my breath.

Stevie Smith

[Short Talk on Sylvia Plath] Did you see her mother on television? She said plain, burned things. She said I thought it an excellent poem but it hurt me. She did not say jungle fear. She did not say jungle hatred wild jungle weeping chop it back chop it. She said self-government she said end of the road. She did not say humming in the middle of the air what you came for chop.

Anne Carson

Verses which do not teach men new and moving truths do not deserve to be read.

Voltaire

A poet must discover that it’s his own story that is true, even if the truth is small indeed.

Jim Harrison

I came here to be for all and with all,and what I do today in my solitudewill be echoed tomorrow by the multitude.What I say now with one heartwill be said tomorrow by thousands of hearts...

Kahlil Gibran

It was not like everyone had said.Not like being needed,or needing; not desperate;it did not whisperthat I'd come to harm. I didn't losemy head. No, I was notgoing to leap from a greatheight and flapmy wings.It was in factthe opposite of flying:it contained the wishto be toppled, to be on the floor,the ground, anywhere I mightlie down. . . .On my back, and you on me.

Deborah Garrison

a joy that hurts with sadnessa sadness that is pleasurablea pleasure full of terrora terror that excitesan excitement that calmsa calmness that frightens.

Aidan Chambers

His vision, from the constantly passing bars,has grown so weary that it cannot holdanything else. It seems to him there area thousand bars, and behind the bars, no world.As he paces in cramped circles, over and over,the movement of his powerful soft stridesis like a ritual dance around a centerin which a mighty will stands paralyzed.Only at times, the curtain of the pupilslifts, quietly. An image enters in,rushes down through the tense, arrested muscles,plunges into the heart and is gone.

Rainer Maria Rilke

Shit is disgusting and horrible. A lot of people and things are disgusting and horrible, and I want to be a nice person, and I am. When you are speaking about rejected people whose suffering makes them disgusting, you are speaking about shit. I do not mean that we should all eat shit and love what we can’t help rejecting. I am saying that I tried to do that, just to see if it was possible.It’s not possible.

Ariana Reines

Poetry is the scholar's art.

Wallace Stevens

...few young poets [are] testing their poems against the ear. They're writing for the page, and the page, let me tell you, is a cold bed.

Stanley Kunitz

Pensar incomoda como andar à chuvaQuando o vento cresce e parece que chove mais.

Alberto Caeiro

Higgledy piggledy, my black hen,She lays eggs for gentlemen.Gentlemen come every dayTo count what my black hen doth lay.If perchance she lays too many,They fine my hen a pretty penny;If perchance she fails to lay,The gentlemen a bonus pay.Mumbledy pumbledy, my red cow,She’s cooperating now.At first she didn’t understandThat milk production must be planned;She didn’t understand at firstShe either had to plan or burst,But now the government reportsShe’s giving pints instead of quarts.Fiddle de dee, my next-door neighbors,They are giggling at their labors.First they plant the tiny seed,Then they water, then they weed,Then they hoe and prune and lop,They they raise a record crop,Then they laugh their sides asunder,And plow the whole caboodle under.Abracadabra, thus we learnThe more you create, the less you earn.The less you earn, the more you’re given,The less you lead, the more you’re driven,The more destroyed, the more they feed,The more you pay, the more they need,The more you earn, the less you keep,And now I lay me down to sleep.I pray the Lord my soul to takeIf the tax-collector hasn’t got it before I wake.

Ogden Nash

There is nothinggoing on. I took nothingyou wanted. You can'thave it back.

Daphne Gottlieb

He feeds upon her face by day and night,And she with true kind eyes looks back on him,Fair as the moon and joyful as the light:Not wan with waiting, not with sorrow dim;Not as she is, but was when hope shone bright;Not as she is, but as she fills his dream.

Christina Rossetti

What happens to a dream deferred?

Langston Hughes

But neither money nor machines can create. They shuttle tokens of energy, but they do not transform. A civilization based on them puts people out of touch with their creative powers.

Lewis Hyde

Song of myselfSmile O voluptuous cool-breath'd earth! Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees! Earth of departed sunset--earth of the mountains misty-topt! Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon just tinged with blue! Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river! Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake! Far-swooping elbow'd earth--rich apple-blossom'd earth! Smile, for your lover comes.

Walt Whitman

Hold your venomDo you recognise the instinctin me, fellow scorpion?

Kiera Woodhull

The masters of information have forgotten about poetry, where words may have a meaning quite different from what the lexicon says, where the metaphoric spark is always one jump ahead of the decoding function, where another, unforeseen reading is always possible.

J.M. Coetzee

A young gratuitous smile; trust and distrust;Promiscuities of bed and board and road; The one assured treasureA life, in recollection, truly possessed.

Robert Wells

I will reveal you who I am. I am your reflection.

Santosh Kalwar

Enjoy yourselves. And Hap: Don't let Umber near the arrows and bows; he's liable to shoot himself in the nose." Dodd grinned and snapped the reins, and the carriage rolled away. Umber sniffed. "One of his lesser poems. Come, Hap.

P.W. Catanese

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Poetry Quotes - Page 84

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