Quotes About Poetry

CROWS CALLING AT NIGHT Yellow clouds beside the walls; crows roosting near. Flying back, they caw, caw; calling in the boughs. In the loom she weaves brocade, the Qin river girl. Made of emerald yarn like mist, the window hides her words. She stops the shuttle, sorrowful, and thinks of the distant man. She stays alone in the lonely room, her tears just like the rain.

LAO LAO TANG PAVILION What place under heaven most hurts the heart? Laolao Ting, for seeing visitors off. The spring wind knows how bitter it is to part, The willow twig will never again be green.

SENT TO DU FU BELOW SHAQUI CITY What is it that I've come to now? High before me: Shaqiu city. Beside the city, ancient trees; The sunset joins the autumn sounds. The Lu wine cannot make me drunk, Qi's songs cannot restore my feelings. My thoughts of you are like the Wen's waters, Mightily sent on their southern journey.

Wanna rock you, girl, with a butterfly tunic. / No, I'm not gay, I'm just your emo enuch. / Gonna smile real shy, won't cop a feel, / 'cause I'm your virgin crush, your supersafe deal. / Let those other guys keep sexing. / You and me, we be texting / 'bout unicorns and rainbows and our perfect love. / Girl, we fit together like a hand in a glove. / Now I don't mean that nasty, tell your mum don't get mad. / I even wrote 'You're awesome' on your maxi pads.

Careful there, Poet. I might start to believe you.

Alliteration. It's when you repeat the same consonant in a phrase," Memphis explained. "Huh. I was hoping it was something dirty.

Then one day he sent her a single long-stemmed rose with the famous Hfez of Shrz poem that you probably know." She recited the lines from the thirteenth-century poem: Give never the wine bowl from thy hand Nor loose thy grasp on the rose's stem 'Tis a mad bad world that the fates have planned. Match wits with their every strategem!

wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils.

Herbert's And now in age I bud again After so many deaths I live and write; I once more smell the dew and rain and relish versing.

A poem wasn't really a poem, it seemed to her, unless it was full of metaphor; it took her a while to adjust to the prosody she heard in his work.

More often, a poem went through twenty or thirty drafts with amazing numbers of alterations

He had a tenderness in him, and a streak of poetry, and she knew he loved the land for far more than its ability to sustain him.

I don't know if you or I exist, but somewhere there are poems about us.

In Austin, someone has scrawled on the bathroom wall of a cafe on Congress Street, "I don't know if you or I exist, but somewhere there are poems about us.

In Austin, someone has scrawled on the bathroom wall of a cafe on Congress Street, 'I don't know if you or I exist, but somewhere there are poems about us.

Or again, exegesis of The Waste Land often reads remarkably like the psychoanalytic interpretation of a dream, yet we know that Eliot's methods were prepared for him not by Freud but by other poets.

But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.

There can be no society without poetry, but society can never be realized as poetry, it is never poetic. Sometimes the two terms seek to break apart. They cannot.

Poets sing our human music for us.

Poetry, whatever the manifest content of the poem, is always a violation of the rationalism and morality of bourgeois society.

Society's dark hull drifts further and further away. It is this place - the place of our separation, our distinction - that much of his poetry occupies.

I believe in poetry as a way of surviving the emotional chaos, spiritual confusions and traumatic events that come with being alive.

Pure mathematics is, in its way, the poetry of logical ideas. ... [By seeking] logical beauty spiritual formulas are discovered necessary for the deeper penetration into the laws of nature.

I see poetry as spiritual medicine.