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Poetry is the work of poets, not of peoples or communities; artistic creation can never be anything but the production read more
Poetry is the work of poets, not of peoples or communities; artistic creation can never be anything but the production of an individual mind.
Even when poetry has a meaning, as it usually has, it may be inadvisable to draw it out... Perfect understanding read more
Even when poetry has a meaning, as it usually has, it may be inadvisable to draw it out... Perfect understanding will sometimes almost extinguish pleasure.
For rhyme the rudder is of verses,
With which, like ships, they steer their courses.
For rhyme the rudder is of verses,
With which, like ships, they steer their courses.
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).
Poetry is a way of taking life by the throat.
Poetry is a way of taking life by the throat.
It is the job of poetry to clean up our word-clogged reality by creating silences around things.
It is the job of poetry to clean up our word-clogged reality by creating silences around things.
Poetry is boned with ideas, nerved and blooded with emotions, all held together by the delicate, tough skin of words.
Poetry is boned with ideas, nerved and blooded with emotions, all held together by the delicate, tough skin of words.
When the brain gets as dry as an empty nut,
When the reason stands on its squarest toes,
read more
When the brain gets as dry as an empty nut,
When the reason stands on its squarest toes,
When the mind (like a beard) has a "formal cut,"--
There is a place and enough for the pains of prose;
But whenever the May-blood stires and glows,
And the young year draws to the "golden prime,"
And Sir Romeo sticks in his ear a rose,--
Then hey! for the ripple of laughing rhyme!
Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.