Quotes About Poetry

once upon an afternoon i became still-life i carried a balloon and a long black knife.)

your face like summer lightning gets caught in my voice and i draw you up from deep rivers taste your face of a thousand names see you smile a new season hear your voice a wild sea pausing in the wind

To P.J. (2 yrs old who sed write a poem for me in Portland, Oregon) if i cud ever write a poem as beautiful as u little 2/yr/old/brotha, I wud laugh, jump, leap up and touch the stars cuz u be the poem i try for each time i pick up a pen and paper. u. and Morani and Mungu be our blue/blk/stars that will shine on our lives and makes us finally BE. if i cud ever write a poem as beautiful as u, little 2/yr/old/brotha, poetry wud go out of bizness.

This career essentially chased me down while I was on the spoken-word scene in New York. I kept hearing that my delivery of my poetry - which was very personal and cathartic at the time- was very moving to folks. People thought that I was an actress because of my delivery, when I was just dropping into the work and really pouring out my soul.

I am dying: it's a beautiful word. Like the long slow sigh of the cello: dying. But the sound of it is the only beautiful thing about it.

I am dying: it's a beautiful word. Like the long slow sigh of a cello: dying. But the sound of it is the only beautiful thing about it.

For me, the act of writing comes out of query. Each image turns to the next with its question and gets answered. Or with its answer it gets questioned. Poetry is my way to understand what is difficult. How one thing can be explained through another—is to get closer, to unhide what feels hidden.

The poetry of love is the greatest gift God gave us.

famoso proverbio de Mao: «Es en la página en blanco donde se escribe el más hermoso de los poemas»

For verses and poems I can turn to true food.

Of these plays, the most inoffensive are comedies and tragedies, that is to say, the dramas which poets write for the stage, and which, though they often handle impure subjects, yet do so without the filthiness of language which characterizes many other performances; and it is these dramas which boys are obliged by their seniors to read and learn as a part of what is called a liberal and gentlemanly education.

To name an object is to take away three-fourths of the pleasure given by a poem. This pleasure consists in guessing little by little: to suggest it, that is the ideal.

Poetry is the expression, in human language restored to its essential rhythm, of the mysterious meaning of the aspects of existence: in this way it confers authenticity on our time on earth and constitutes the only spiritual task there is.

You don't make a poem with ideas, but with words.

I feel his arm Lightly Over me. He takes one of my outstretched hands. Draws it beneath my stomach. "One more time..." This is not sex, Not friendship. Something Strange Special In the stillness of his breath, The waterlike way he moves. He is making a dance. We are making a dance.

Bu yaÅŸlardaki genç k?zlar için okuduklar? ÅŸiirlerin iyi mi kötü mü, sahici mi yoksa uyduruk mu olduÄŸunun hiç önemi yoktur. Dizeler onlar için susuzluklar?n? dindiren kadehlerdir, içindeki ÅŸaraba dikkat etmezler, çünkü daha içmeden sarhoÅŸturlar.

All these young French poets, like the rest of the people, lived for the joy of living in its sublimest form, the creative joy in work.

That sea - that mother of a million summers, Who bore, with melody, a million springs, Shall sing for my enchantment...

She could feel magic in the quiet spring day, like a sorcerer's far-off voice, and lines of poetry floated over her mind as if they were strands of spider-web.

For it is a peculiarity of persons who lead rich, emotional lives, and who (as the saying is) live intensely and with a wild poetry, that they read all kinds of meanings into comparatively simple actions, especially the actions of other people, who do not live intensely and with a wild poetry.

Hetty was eating, rather than reading, large slabs of a very thin book of contemporary verse each page having a thick wodge of print, without capital letters, starting at the top and running nearly to the bottom. Her eyes were very close to the book and she frowned with concentration.

Most poetry just confounds me. I really want to like it, but I can't help thinking it's a hoax. (p. 24)

Prive?te: lumina e alb? ca pieptul p?s?rilor de mare

After all, what is 'poetry itself'? Where are its horizons? What draws a reader to 'read' the world and their own self through this particular medium, even if only occasionally? Because it is often on 'occasions'—sacred or ritualised moments, or moments made holy by celebration or grief—that poetry is reached for, its peculiar intensity and compression instinctively demanded. But this is not a separation from life; rather, it is an illumination of it.