Some force whole regions, in despite
O' geography, to change their site;
Make former times shake hands with latter,
And that which was before come after;
But those that write in rhyme still make
The one verse for the other's sake;
For one for sense, and one for rhyme,
I think's sufficient at one time.
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Poetry is plucking at the heartstrings, and making music with them.
Poetry is plucking at the heartstrings, and making music with them.
The great function of poetry is to give back to us the situations of our dreams.
The great function of poetry is to give back to us the situations of our dreams.
Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits.
Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits.
For florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme,
Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.
For florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme,
Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.
Poetry teaches us music, metaphor, condensation
and specificity.
Poetry teaches us music, metaphor, condensation
and specificity.
Poetry comes nearer to vital truth than history.
Poetry comes nearer to vital truth than history.
Writing a poem is discovering
Writing a poem is discovering
Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, read more
Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things.
CONSIDERING THE VOID
When I behold the charm
of evening skies, their lulling endurance;
the patterns of stars with read more
CONSIDERING THE VOID
When I behold the charm
of evening skies, their lulling endurance;
the patterns of stars with names
of bears and dogs, a swan, a virgin;
other planets that the Voyager showed
were like and so unlike our own,
with all their diverse moons,
bright discs, weird rings, and cratered faces;
comets with their streaming tails
bent by pressure from our sun;
the skyscape of our Milky Way
holding in its shimmering disc
an infinity of suns
(or say a thousand billion);
knowing there are holes of darkness
gulping mass and even light,
knowing that this galaxy of ours
is one of multitudes
in what we call the heavens,
it troubles me. It troubles me.
-President Jimmy Carter- (he has written a volume of poetry as well as a novel, The Hornet's Nest,
about the Revolutionary War).
