Quotes About Poetry

en Chile todos los actos poéticos terminaban en desastres.

No ha visto usted nunca a esos pájaros ridículos que bailan hasta la extenuación para conquistar a la hembra? Así era Arturo Belano, un pavorreal presumido y tonto. Y el realismo visceral, su agotadora danza de amor hacia mi. Pero el problema era que yo ya no lo amaba. Se puede conquistar a una muchacha con un poema, pero no se la puede retener con un poema. Vaya, ni siquiera con un movimiento poético.

Ay Ulises Lima, escribía todo el tiempo (es lo que más recuerdo de él) en los márgenes de los libros que sustraía y en papeles sueltos que solía perder. Y nunca escribía poemas, escribía versos que luego con suerte ensamblaba en largos poemas extraños.

Poetry is the one thing that isn't contaminated, the one thing that isn't part of the game.

Only poetry isn't shit.

We write a line we're especially proud of, and weeks later find it staring -no glaring - back at us from some stanza in George Herbert or Emily Dickinson. All poets have debts outstanding. It's how we learn; how we adore; we come to ourselves by putting those selves into the hands of masters. With experience we learn how to disguise our thefts (sometimes by flaunting them). It is how we both continue and extend a tradition. -J.D. McClatchy, Writing Between the Lines

Did you read the part that says, 'Your hair is like a flock of goats'? How romantic is that? Or that other line, 'Your neck is like the tower of David.' Oh, now, that sounds real attractive! If some guy tried those lines on me, I'm sure I'd fall instantly in love with him.

Life is poetry," said Mae. "Stop. Watch. Listen. There's poetry all over. And the thing about poetry? It don't write itself.

Love was poetry in its purest form. It existed when it did, and there was nothing that could match it's truth, its mystifying magnetism, its unequaled emotion. Love was a perfectly written sentence without using sound, and unparalleled array of visual harmony without using color. You created it, and it was there to have and to hold without your ever actually being able to see it. It just was.

When botanists go walking the forests and fields looking for plants, we say we are going on a foray. When writers do the same, we should call it a metaphoray, and the land is rich in both. We need them both; scientist and poet Jeffrey Burton Russell writes that "as the sign of a deeper truth, metaphor was close to sacrament. Because the vastness and richness cannot be expressed by the overt sense of a statement alone.

It's just poetry, beauty and love. How hard can that be to act?

Poetry is not a civilizer, rather the reverse, for great poetry appeals to the most primitive instincts.

The beauty of things was born before eyes and sufficient to itself; the heartbreaking beauty Will remain when there is no heart to break for it.

Poetry is on earth to make you serene, not corrupt your mind, thoughts,or emotions

I want a marriage of companions—one of shared lives and shared poems,' he murmured. 'If we were husband and wife, we would collect books, read, and drink tea together. As I told you before, I'd want you for what's in here.' Again he pointed to my heart, but I felt it in a place far lower in my body.

I finally understand what the poets have written. In spring, moved to passion; in autumn only regret.

Mille anni addietro il poeta Han Yun scrisse: «Tutto ciò che non ha pace griderà forte». Paragonò il bisogno umano di esprimere i sentimenti con la scrittura alla forza naturale che spinge le piante a stormire nel vento, o il metallo a risuonare quando viene percosso. Formulata quella considerazione, seppi cosa fare. Ci lavoravo da anni. Privata del mondo esterno, avevo passato la vita a guardarmi dentro e le mie emozioni erano finemente accordate.

It was so important to him, and he made it important to me: poetry, and language, and how we use it to remind ourselves of how our lives should be lived . . .

Poets speak of hope in ladies smiles, but give me a smirk any day, I say.

Damn it, he mumbled apologetically, things like this never happened to Vorthalia the Bold. She raised a thoughtful eyebrow. How do you know? The histories of those times were all written by minstrels and poets. You try and think of a word that rhymes with 'bleeding ulcer

Good God, Enrique was writing poetry to her? Yes, and why hadn't he thought of poetry? Besides the obvious reason of his absence of talent in that direction. He wondered if she'd like to read a really clever combat-drop mission plan, instead. Sonnets, damn. All he'd ever come up with in that line were limericks. He

Those that know of... Paths of space... Have little time to waste on such things as magic... And those who know whence poetry is, and the need that man has for song, or know any one of the fifty branches of magic, have little time to waste on such things as science...

The poets have been right in all these centuries, darling; even in its astounding imperfection this earth of ours is magnificent. But oh this human race!

She gave him books of poetry: Wordsworth, Whitman, all the W's. When she'd ask him how he liked them, he would say, Fine. I'm on page… and then he would tell her what page he was on and how many pages he'd accomplished that day.