Quotes About Poet

In constructing the plot and working it out with the proper diction, the poet should place the scene, as far as possible, before his eyes. In this way, seeing everything with the utmost vividness, as if he were a spectator of the action, he will discover what is in keeping with it, and be most unlikely to overlook inconsistencies.

If there ever was a poet for the working class Billy Joe Shaver and Merle Haggard would be my nomination.

I'd like people to remember me for a diligent expert workman. I think a poet is a workman. I think Shakespeare was a workman. And God's a workman. I don't think there's anything better than a workman.

I think it better that in times like these a poet's mouth be silent, for in truth we have no gift to set a statesman right.

The poet's perfect expression is the token of a perfect experience; what he says in the best possible way he has felt in the best possible way, that is, completely.

I was a poet when I loved him.

Then a powerful demon, a prowler through the dark, nursed a hard grievance. It harrowed him to hear the din of the loud banquet every day in the hall, the harp being struck and the clear song of a skilled poet telling with mastery of man's beginnings

The aim of poetry and the poet is finally to be of service, to ply the effort of the individual into the larger work of the community as a whole.

The lamp you lighted in the olden time Will show you my heart's-blood beating through the rhyme: A poet's journal, writ in fire and tears... Then slow deliverance, with the gaps of years.

William Blake is my favorite poet of all time, and he said that he wasn't quite familiar with the sounds of music. If so, he would have been a musician.

Perhaps no poet is a conscious plagiarist, but there seems to be warrant for suspecting that there is no poet who is not at one time or another an unconscious one.

He was a poet with a rough skin: one whose sturdiness was more the result of external circumstances than of intrinsic nature. Too kindly constituted to be very provident, he was yet not imprudent. He had a quiet humorousness of disposition, not out of keeping with a frequent melancholy, the general expression of his countenance being one of abstraction. Like Walt Whitman he felt as his years increased— 'I foresee too much; it means more than I thought.

Advertising is corporate form of art and the goal is to make an effect. Every artist- any painter, any poet or musician sets out to create an effect, he sets a trap to catch somebody`s attention. That is the nature of art.

Unlike the poet, the novelist (see Auden's lustrous sonnet of that name) assumes that his or her reactions to the main events (in life, in history) are utterly median, average—predictably and dependably human.

Excessive brightness drove the poet into darkness. (essay : Hölderlin And The Essence Of Poetry, chapter from my copy of The origin of the work of art)

All the poems of the poet who has entered into his poethood are poems of homecoming.

To be a poet in a destitute time means: to attend, singing, to the trace of the fugitive god. This is why the poet in the time of the world's night utters the holy.

It is sometimes both the curse and the blessing of the poet to perceive without yet being able to order those perceptions, and that is another name for Chaos.

She was a rare psychotic-confessional-poet strain of salmonella.

The work of the poet as a vehicle of world harmony has a social character—this is, it is concerned with the doings of the poet's fellow men, among whom he lives and whose fate he shares. He does not speak 'for them' but with them, nor does he set himself apart from them: otherwise he would not be a source of truth.

In order to maintain a capacity for astonishment, the poet can never anticipate the identity of the reader. Once the writer knows for whom he or she is writing, then the writer becomes too conscious of trying to influence that person and to interfere with the intuitive process.

Once, in his first term, Cartwright had been bold enough to ask him why he was clever, what exercises he did to keep his brain fit. Healey had laughed. It's memory, Cartwright, old dear. Memory, the mother of the Muses... at least that's what thingummy said. Who? You know, what's his name, Greek poet chap. Wrote the Theogony... what was he called? Begins with an 'H'. Homer? No, dear. Not Homer, the other one. No, it's gone. Anyway. Memory, that's the key.

She can't help it,' he said. 'She's got the soul of a poet and the emotional makeup of a junkyard dog.

She does not love you. Your metaphors thrill her you are her poet. But that's all there's to it.