Quotes About Poetry

At breakfast!' said Louise in an awed voice. 'A man who can read poetry at breakfast would be capable of anything.

Beauty is lyrical. Ugliness is elegiac.

Penser à toi, c'est comme jeter des flocons dans un feu. Il est une certaine forme de bonheur qui me fait peur à peu près pour toujours.

Son cou est saupoudré de grains de beauté minuscules, constellations descendant jusqu'à ses seins. Je deviens l'astronome de sa peau, fourre mon nez dans ses étoiles.

À l'horloge de tes baisers, le temps se ramollit. Le jour met son pyjama d'étoiles en cachette et s'évapore. L'orchestre à moteur qui fulmine au feu rouge joue en sourdine. La lune te regarde à travers la fenêtre. Elle va peindre ses reflets sur ta peau. Du bout de mes doigts, je m'efforcerai d'être un tout petit peu plus que son pinceau.

El amor es una ecuación poética, amigo mio! Debes tratar de resolverla a cualquier precio.

Los pájaros se entierran en pleno cielo. Incluso la más elegante de las nubes está repleta de sus cuerpecitos yertos. Se dice que de cada 10.189 gotas de lluvia, 1 sería la lágrima de un pájaro y que de cada 16.474 copos de nieve, 1 el fantasma de un pájaro descolgado de la placenta celeste.

Dai, vieni mio albero in fiore, stasera spegneremo la luce e sui tuoi boccioli poserò gli occhiali. Con la punta dei rami segnerai la volta celeste e scuoterai il tronco invisibile che sostiene la luna. Nuovi sogni cadranno ai nostri piedi come neve tiepida. Pianterai a terra le tue radici a forma di tacchi a spillo, che faranno saldamente presa. Lascia che mi arrampichi sul tuo cuore di bambù, voglio dormire accanto a te.

The fact that Saigyo composed a poem that begins, "I shall be unhappy without loneliness," shows that he made loneliness his master.

He who creates three to five haiku poems during a lifetime is a haiku poet. He who attains to completes ten is a master.

How still it is! Stinging into the stones, The locusts' trill.

At one time I was weary of verse writing, and wanted to give it up. At another time I was determined to be a poet until I could establish a proud name over others. The alternatives battled in my mind and made my life restless.

Cherry blossoms – lights of years past.

Even in Kyoto     longing for Kyoto            hototogisu

Skylark sings all day, and day not long enough.

To talk casually About an iris flower Is one of the pleasures Of the wandering journey.

Sparrow, spare the horsefly dallying in flowers.

The master said, 'Learn about a pine tree from a pine tree, and about a bamboo stalk from a bamboo stalk.' What he meant was that the poet should detach his mind from self… and enter into the object, sharing its delicate life and its feelings. Whereupon a poem forms itself. Description of the object is not enough: unless a poem contains feelings which have come from the object, the object and the poet's self will be separate things.

Even if you have three or four extra syllables, or even five or seven, you needn't worry as long as it sounds right. But if even one syllable is stale in your mouth, give it all of your attention.

Even a summer day isn't long enough for singing skylarks

Under the cherry/blossom soup/blossom salad.

From five to six miles I walk every day In search of you, Cherry blossoms.

246. From the heart of the sweet peony,/A drunken bee. 251. Tomb. bend/to autumn wind-/ my sobbing.

I went to a snow-viewing party.