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All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling.
All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling.
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 the art of creating imaginary gardens with real toads.
Poetry is the art of creating imaginary gardens with real toads.
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.
The poet's expression of joy conceals his despair at not having found the reality of joy.
The poet's expression of joy conceals his despair at not having found the reality of joy.
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 is what gets lost in translation.
Poetry is what gets lost in translation.
Feel you the barren flattery of a rhyme?
Can poets soothe you, when you pine for bread,
read more
Feel you the barren flattery of a rhyme?
Can poets soothe you, when you pine for bread,
By winding myrtle round your ruin'd shed?
