Quotes About Poet

A poet is the mocking-bird of the spiritual universe. In him are collected all the individual songs of all individual natures.

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds; his auditors are as men entranced by the melody of an unseen musician, who feel that they are moved and softened, yet know not whence or why.

Inner thought: it is easier to make rhymes on a train; the lines come out the right length because the wheel clicks never miss their count. Idea: if we were a poet we would spend all our time on trains.

Now to form the complete poet, neither heart only, nor head only, is sufficient: the complete poet must have a heart in his brain, or a brain in his heart. Such was Shakspeare, complete because he had both, and supreme because he had both to the highest degree.

The poet pursues the trouble in your heart as pitilessly as he has ferreted out his own.

Here he had read to me his tear-stained page Of sorrow... here would try To lay his burden in the hands of Song, And make the Poet bear the Lover's wrong, But still his heart impatiently would cry: "In vain, in vain! You cannot teach to flow In measured lines so measureless a woe. First learn to slay this wild beast of despair, Then from his harmless jaws your honey tear!"

And let me be rather but honest with no-wit, Than a noisy nonsensical half-witted poet.

A poet dares be just so clear and no clearer; he approaches lucid ground warily, like a mariner who is determined not to scrape his bottom on anything solid. A poet's pleasure is to withhold a little of his meaning, to intensify by mystification. He unzips the veil from beauty but does not remove it. A poet utterly clear is a trifle glaring.

His home is in the heights: to him Men wage a battle weird and dim... The perilous music that he hears Falls from the vortice of the spheres...

The little girl had the making of a poet in her who, being told to be sure of her meaning before she spoke, said, "How can I know what I think till I see what I say?"

If you believe you're a poet, then you're saved.

FOR MILES Your sound is faultless pure & round holy almost profound Your sound is your sound true & from within a confession soulful & lovely Poet whose sound is played lost or recorded but heard can you recall that 54 night at the Open Door when you & bird wailed five in the morning some wondrous yet unimaginable score?

The poet is just like the fabled hunter who naps beside a tree, waiting for hares to break their skulls by running headlong into the tree trunk. After waiting for a long time, the poet discovers that he is the hare.

The true poet for me is a priest. As soon as he dons the cassock, he must leave his family.

era poeta, tanto que nunca le habían satisfecho las formas en que pudiera encerrar sus pensamientos, y nunca los había encerrado al escribirlos.

I've eaten it since I was wee high to a snail's butt, and ah, it has not only counteracted the destructive elements that I have imposed upon my beautiful God-given brain, but given me a genius that I cannot account for except for the chile seed." says Jimmy Santiago Baca, New Mexico's most famous Chicano poet.

The poet is at the edge of our consciousness of the world, finding beyond the suspected nothingness which we imagine limits our perception another acre or so of being worth our venturing upon.

A song remembers a home, another conjures fear that home will fall to those who would destroy it. A poet places wine glasses on a fountain's rim under stars. An artist sets his lost wife on a dome . . . amid stars. A dancer lets the music be what she is, until it stops. Someone made the music, someone plays it while she dances.

We are the total of our longings, he had written. But Kevin was a song-writer, not a poet, and he never did use it.

A poet, yes, but an Englishman too. Do you know what is the pride of the English? Do you know what is the proudest word you will ever hear from an Englishman's mouth? The seas' ruler. His seacold eyes looked on the empty bay: it seems history is to blame: on me and on my words, unhating. —That on his empire, Stephen said, the sun never sets. —Ba! Mr Deasy cried. That's not English. A French Celt said that.

He was not convinced of the truth of the saying [] "The poet is born, not made" but he was quite sure of the truth of this at least: [] "The poem is made not born.

As regards literary culture, it fascinates me that it has been so resilient to the Union. For example, when T.S. Eliot wanted to become poet in these lands, it wasn't as an English poet, it was an Anglian poet he wanted to be.

Astronomers have been bewildered by the theory of an expanding universe, but there is no less expansion in the moral infinite of the universe of man. As far as the frontiers of science are pushed back, over the extended arc of these frontiers one will hear the poet's hounds on the chase.

Who shall measure the hat and violence of the poet's heart when caught and tangled in a woman's body?