All Quotes By Tag: Poem

“One of poetry’s great effects, through its emphasis upon feeling, association, music and image — things we recognize and respond to even before we understand why — is to guide us toward the part of ourselves so deeply buried that it borders upon the collective.”Staying Human: Poetry in the Age of Technology”

“When he was in college, a famous poet made a useful distinction for him. He had drunk enough in the poet’s company to be compelled to describe to him a poem he was thinking of. It would be a monologue of sorts, the self-contemplation of a student on a summer afternoon who is reading Euphues. The poem itself would be a subtle series of euphuisms, translating the heat, the day, the student’s concerns, into symmetrical posies; translating even his contempt and boredom with that famously foolish book into a euphuism.The poet nodded his big head in a sympathetic, rhythmic way as this was explained to him, then told him that there are two kinds of poems. There is the kind you write; there is the kind you talk about in bars. Both kinds have value and both are poems; but it’s fatal to confuse them.In the Seventh Saint, many years later, it had struck him that the difference between himself and Shakespeare wasn’t talent – not especially – but nerve. The capacity not to be frightened by his largest and most potent conceptions, to simply (simply!) sit down and execute them. The dreadful lassitude he felt when something really large and multifarious came suddenly clear to him, something Lear-sized yet sonnet-precise. If only they didn’t rush on him whole, all at once, massive and perfect, leaving him frightened and nerveless at the prospect of articulating them word by scene by page. He would try to believe they were of the kind told in bars, not the kind to be written, though there was no way to be sure of this except to attempt the writing; he would raise a finger (the novelist in the bar mirror raising the obverse finger) and push forward his change. Wailing like a neglected ghost, the vast notion would beat its wings into the void.Sometimes it would pursue him for days and years as he fled desperately. Sometimes he would turn to face it, and do battle. Once, twice, he had been victorious, objectively at least. Out of an immense concatenation of feeling, thought, word, transcendent meaning had come his first novel, a slim, pageant of a book, tombstone for his slain conception. A publisher had taken it, gingerly; had slipped it quietly into the deep pool of spring releases, where it sank without a ripple, and where he supposes it lies still, its calm Bodoni gone long since green. A second, just as slim but more lurid, nightmarish even, about imaginary murders in an imaginary exotic locale, had been sold for a movie, though the movie had never been made. He felt guilt for the producer’s failure (which perhaps the producer didn’t feel), having known the book could not be filmed; he had made a large sum, enough to finance years of this kind of thing, on a book whose first printing was largely returned.”

“padamu senja aku tak bisa tuk tak jatuh cinta, meski padamu pun engkau menenggelamkannya”

“YOU ARE JUSTYou are not just for the right or left,but for what is right over the wrong.You are not just rich or poor,but always wealthy in the mind and heart.You are not perfect, but flawed.You are flawed, but you are just.You may just be conscious human,but you are also a magnificentreflection of God.”

“My heart’s been broken in a thousand pieces I’ve lived and died a thousand times And in each of those lifetimes With all of those pieces I chose you…A million times.”

“I’ll keep looking- till that watery reflection of mine in your eye, rolls down as a tear. I’ll keep looking till we finally look away like our lives never met. Let’s cheat destiny as if we never knew each other. Let’s do this last thing together.”

“I don’t write about you because you don’t deserve to be immortalised in my words.I’ll leave you to float around in my mind until forgetfulness comes to take you away.”

“You deserve the love your soul craves for.Don’t settle.”

“pada akhirnya yang pergi akan kembali,entah pada pelukan, atau pada masing-masing kenangan”

“Feelings and emotionran through my veinslike a hurricane.And that’s when everythingbegan to look like poetry.—You look like poetry”

“I tried to cut through all our hurried centuries, lost in a forest within.Men broke by war emerged in frightful shape—more than human but also less, they were quite aware,the sovereign dead, that time is like a window opening up the sad patterns of never.As one they advanced— Lloyd George Georges ClemenceauAdolph Hitler —through history. But the past does not followso straightforward a path said I (predictably in Italian),and, burning under their masters, they proclaimedthe world a pendulum. It is possible, but this gives riseto the often-heard complaint that repetition is unavoidable. Still time issues into today,little fathers. The years, I believe, can be shaped with one’s hands.The world —its obscure moving fields, Persian tragedies,and countries in peace— I had to inform that council of the lost,remains an instrument, a valve instrument, which, when waning,is perfectly clear in the pit —and, being given to such classical conceptsas freedom and necessity, laboriously continued in the traditional way—I believe I believe.”

“I have a desperate desire to put a ring on your finger. For there’s nothing sexier than kissing a glistering hand in the sun.”

“You said we can’t happen, but darling, we started happening the very first day we met.”

“I don’t want to heal you. I want to love you until your scars merge with the love bites on your skin.”

“Gentle whispers from above Awakened me more Than ever did This loud world”