Quotes About Poetry

I was excited by what my painter friends were doing, and they seemed to be interested in our poetry too, and that was a wonderful little, fizzy sort of world.

When you finish a poem, it clicks shut like the top of a jewel box, but prose is endless. I haven't experienced an awful lot of clicking shut!

The very existence of poetry should make us laugh. What is that all about? What is it for?

The poems of Khalili, Pajwak, Ansari, Haji Dehqan, Ashraqi, Beytaab, Hafez, Jami, Nizami, Rumi, Khayyám, Beydel, and more went up in smoke.

Tapi seperti kata sang penyair; saat cinta menggoda, masalah pun tiba!

A l'école, nous jouions à un jeu appelé sherganji, la bataille des poèmes.

J'utiliserai un pétale pour papier Et t'écrirai les mots les plus doux Tu es le sultan de mon coeur Le sultan de mon coeur.

Vous le savez bien, nous autres Afghans adorons notre poésie. Même les moins instruits peuvent réciter des vers de Hafez, de Khayyam ou de Saadi. Vous rappelez-vous, monsieur Markus, lorsque vous m'avez dit l'année dernière combien vous aimiez les Afghans? Je vous ai demandé pourquoi et vous m'avez répondu en riant : parce que même vos tagueurs citent Rumi sur les murs.

will use a flower petal for paper, And write you the sweetest letter, You are the sultan of my heart, the sultan of my heart.

Pria sejati tidak membaca puisi dan tentu saja mereka tidak pernah menulisnya! Pria sejati, anak laki-laki sejati bermain sepak bola.

Dying can be quite the career move for a young poet.

There is nothing so seductive to a girl as to be loved by a poetic-depressive type. And if she is vain enough to deceive herself into thinking that she loves him faithfully by clinging to him instead of giving him up, then her task will be easy. She will enjoy both the distinction and the good conscience of being faithful, and at the same time the most finely distilled romantic love. God save everyone from such faithfulness!

Maybe you're one of those people who writes poems, but rarely reads them. Let me put this as delicately as I can: If you don't read, your writing is going to suck.

This is your genius: your own profound desire to write. Your love of words and language, your attempt to get to what poet Donald Hall called "the unsayable said." If

There's a great feeling of relief and catharsis when you manage to get something that's been buried or hidden out onto the page. And such a process, whether or not it eventually results in a poem, helps to integrate that part of the self.

He carried Paul inside and up the stairs. He gave him a drink of water and the orange chewable aspirin he like and sat with him on the bed, holding his hand...This was what he yearned to capture on film: these rare moments where the world seemed unified, coherent, everything contained in a single fleeting image. A spareness that held beauty and hope and motion - a kind of silvery poetry, just as the body was poetry in blood and flesh and bone.

Should poets bicycle-pump the human heart Or squash it flat? - a Bookshop Idyll

No indeed, poems were not made out of intentions.

The writer must be able to revel and roll in the abundance of words; he must know not only the direct but also the secret power of a word. There are overtones and undertones to a word, and lateral echoes, too.

What would it profit us, after all, even from a purely practical viewpoint, if we stripped life of all poetry, all dreams, all beautiful mysteries, all lies? What is truth, can you tell me that? You see, we only advanced by way of symbols, and we change the symbols as we progress.

If she only knew that all of his poems had been written to her and no one else, every single one, even the one to Night, even the one to the Spirit of the Swamp. But that was something she should never know.

Den store dikter avstedkommer en sammenknepen mund i sit ansigt, strammer sit fuglebryst ut til det ytterste og frembringer følgende ord: Å dikte er å holde dommedag over sig selv.

Hvad vinding er det i grunden endog rent praktisk talt at man ribber livet for al poesi, al drøm, al skjøn mystik, al løgn? Hvad er sandhet, vet De det? Vi bevæger os jo frem bare gjennem symboler, og disse symboler skifter vi efterhvert som vi skrider frem. Lat os forresten ikke glemme glassene.

It's very simple: what are we gaining—excuse me if I'm repeating myself—what are we gaining by a pragmatism that robs our life of poetry, dreams, mysticism—are these all lies? What is truth? Can you tell me that? We can only struggle along by using symbols, and we change them as we alter our views. By the way, let's not neglect our drinks.