Quotes About Poetry

This is a book in which we will dance with language, not a book in which we will trudge toward remedial correctness.

Anybody is qualified, according to everybody, for giving opinions upon poetry. It is not so in chemistry and mathematics. Nor is it so, I believe, in whist and the polka. But then these are more serious things.

The place is all awave with trees, Limes, myrtles, purple-beaded, Acacias having drunk the lees Of the night-dew, faint headed, And wan, grey olive-woods, which seem The fittest foliage for a dream.

Lips shook Like a rose leaning o'er a brook, Which vibrates though it is not struck.

Out on the foolish phrase, but there's a hard rhyming without it.

Poetry proper is never merely a higher mode (melos) of everyday language. It is rather the reverse: everyday language is a forgotten and therefore used-up poem, from which there hardly resounds a call any longer. Martin Heidegger, 'Language

stopped raining and I came to leave. Bees hummed around the poet's hives. His apricots were ripening the colour of a pale sun. Clouds of thistledown drifted across the view and in a field there were some fleecy white sheep.

He lifts his eyes to Jade Dragon Peak and, suddenly, in his silver greatcoat, becomes the living image of my favourite upland traveller, the poet Li Po: You ask me why I live in the grey hills. I smile but do not answer, for my thoughts are elsewhere. Like peach petals carried by the stream, they have gone

Richard Lee calculated that a Bushman child will be carried a distance of 4,900 miles before he begins to walk on his own. Since, during this rhythmic phase, he will be forever naming the contents of his territory, it is impossible he will not become a poet.

I'd always loved poetry and I'd always loved writing music and composing music, but I hadn't thought of putting the two together until around that time.

The mystical poetry of William Blake's artwork also forms the basis for the album cover.

Note how stereotypical the traits are that he assigns to her – she could be almost any woman celebrated in courtly love poetry.

The seasons will go on without us and other poets will speak of love

the poets down here don't write nothin' at all, they just stand back and let it all be...

Someday the Sun will explode, and what about our journalism and poetry then? Well, so what? To hell with our exploding Sun. We have to do what we can do in the time we can act.

They do not discover anything new after that, they only learn how to understand better and better the secret entrusted to them at the outset; their creative effort goes into an unending exegesis, a commentary on that one couplet of poetry assigned to them.

I said that I loved the wise proverb, Brief, simple and deep; For it I'd exchange the great poem That sends us to sleep.

The readers are in love with shipwrecks and terrible disasters. And they make it sound very tragic...but also...wonderful. I don't know how they do it. Or why they do it...They make death sound beautiful, just because the lines rhyme and the poet puts his words together right. But it's mot really like that. - Anne Shirley

Il est des soirs de printemps dont le crépuscule outrepasse les limites que lui prescrit l'astronomie.

The poet Hilaire Belloc included the following poem about the dodo in his Bad Child's Book of Beasts from 1896: The Dodo used to walk around, And take the sun and air. The sun yet warms his native ground – The Dodo is not there! The voice which used to squawk and squeak Is now for ever dumb – Yet may you see his bones and beak All in the Mu-se-um.[147]

ODYSSÉE, VIII, LES AMOURS D'ARÈS ET D'APHRODITE (479-480) : ''Il n'est d'homme ici-bas qui ne doive aux aèdes l'estime et le respect.

down from his brow she ran his curls like thick hyacinth clusters full of blooms

All men owe honor to the poets - honor and awe; for they are dearest to the Muse who puts upon their lips the ways of life.

the reader is hurried out of himself by the force of the poet's imagination, and turns in one place to a hearer, in another to a spectator.