Quotes About Poetry

And still it is not enough to have memories. One must be able to forget them when they are many, and one must have the great patience to wait until they come again. For it is not yet the memories themselves. Not until they have turned to blood within us, to glance, to gesture, nameless and no longer to be distinguished from ourselves - not until then can it happen that in a most rare hour the first word of a verse arises in their midst and goes forth from them.

Depict your sorrows and desires, your passing thoughts and beliefs in some kind of beauty- depict all that with heartfelt, quiet, humble sincerity and use to express yourself the things that surround you,the images of your dreams and the objects of your memory. If your everyday life seems poor to you, do not accuse it; accuse yourself, tell yourself you are not poet enough to summon up its riches; since for the creator there is no poverty and no poor or unimportant place.

And those who come together in the night and are entwined in rocking delight do an earnest work and gather sweetnesses, gather depth and strength for the song of some coming poet, who will arise to speak of ecstasies beyond telling.

The inner, what is it: if not intensified sky hurled through with birds and deep with the winds of homecoming.

If you think your world isn't poetic enough, or exciting enough to tell a story about, that's not because it's a dull world, that's because you're not poet enough to wake its soul up.

In one creative thought a thousand forgotten nights of love come to life again and fill it with majesty and exaltation. And those who come together in the nights and are entwined in rocking delight perform a solemn task and gather sweetness, depth, and strength for the song of some future poet, who will appear in order to say ecstasies that are unsayable.

And those, who come together in the night and are twined in quivering pleasure, are performing a serious work and are heaping up sweetness, depth and force for the song of some coming poet, who will arise to express inexpressible ecstasies

Poetry is the past that breaks out in our hearts.

What poet's persuasion can reconcile the length of those days with the brevity of life?

If your everyday life seems to lack material, do not blame it; blame yourself, tell yourself that you are not poet enough to summon up its riches, for there is no lack for him who creates and no poor, trivial place. And even if you were in a prison whose walls did not let any sound of the world outside reach your senses - would you not have your childhood still, this marvellous, lavish source, this treasure-house of memories? Turn your attention towards that.

For even the best err in words when they are meant to mean most delicate and almost inexpressible things.

Don't petals of soft words float upon your blood?

La rose complète J'ai une telle conscience de ton être, rose complète, que mon consentement te confond avec mon cÅ"ur en fête. Je te respire comme si tu étais, rose, toute la vie, et je me sens l'ami parfait d'une telle amie.

Une rose seule, c'est toutes les roses et celle-ci: l'irremplaçable, le parfait, le souple vocable encadré par le texte des choses. Comment jamais dire sans elle ce que furent nos espérances, et les tendres intermittences, dans la partance continuelle.

In writing poetry, one is always aided and even carried away by the rhythm of exterior things: for the lyric cadence is that of nature: of the waters, the wind, the night. But to write rhythmic prose one must go deep into oneself and find the anonymous and multiple rhythm of the blood. Prose needs to be built like a cathedral: there one is truly without a name, without ambition, without help: on scaffoldings, alone with one's consciousness.

Maledizione antica dei poeti che invece di parlare si lamentano, che sempre giudicano il loro sentimento invece di formarlo; e si ostinano a pensare che quanto in loro è lieto o triste, spetti a loro deplorare o celebrare nella poesia.

Yazmak için acele etmemek gerekir, mana ve tat toplamal?, bütün ve mümkünse uzun bir hayat boyunca ve sonra en sonunda belki iyi olan ve on sat?r yaz?labilir. Çünkü dizeler, birçoklar?n?n dediÄŸi gibi, deÄŸildir (bunlara insan yeterÅŸnce erken yaÅŸta sahiptir), dizeler deneyimlerdir.

Si votre vie quotidienne vous paraît pauvre, ne l'accusez pas; accusez-vous plutôt, dites-vous que vous n'êtes pas assez poète pour en convoquer les richesses. Pour celui qui crée, il n'y a pas, en effet, de pauvreté ni de lieu indigent, indifférent.

wonder if he was really suited to the career for which he was preparing. His academy's chaplain happened to see a book of Rilke's poems in the cadet's hands.

But alas, with poems one accomplishes so little when one writes them early. One should hold off and gather sense and sweetness a whole life long, a long life if possible, and then, right at the end, one could perhaps write ten lines that are good. For poems are not, as people think, feelings (those one has early enough—they are experiences.

Ich habe Hymnen, die ich schweige.

Mädchen, Dichter sind, die von euch lernen das zu sagen, was ihr einsam seid; und sie lernen leben an euch Fernen, wie die Abende an großen Sternen sich gewöhnen an die Ewigkeit.

He began to write a new type of short lyric, which he sometimes called a "Kunst-Ding": a poem in which the obtrusive interferences of an authorial self and all subjective, accidental occasions have been replaced by an inwardly tensile, self-contained sculptural presence, delimited by strong contours but filled with an utmost of interacting visual and visible reality.

how will you sleep without my whispering above you like the linden's branches? Without my lying here awake and placing words, almost like eyelids, on your breasts, your limbs, your lips. Without my closing you and leaving you alone with what is yours like a garden with a mass of mint-balm and star-anise.