All Quotes By Tag: Poetry

“في هذه المدينة الأحلام كالخبز، مدموغة بتاريخ!”

“Spring, spring! Bytuene Mershe ant Averil, when spray biginneth to spring! When shaws be sheene and swards full fayre, and leaves both large and longe! When the hounds of spring are on winter’s traces, in the spring time, the only pretty ring time, when the birds do sing, hey-ding-a-ding ding, cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-wee, ta-witta-woo! And so on and so on and so on. See almost any poet between the Bronze Age and 1805.”

“ma chère penchons sur les filons géologiques (my dear let us lean on geographical veins)”

“في عينيه يد تلوّح من سنين ولا تتعب، يد طيبة تلوح مثل منديل.”

“My earliest poems appear almost skeletal to me now – it seems I’ve learned to add meat, muscle and a nice suit of clothes.”

“Here the phenomenologist has nothing in common with the literary critic who, as has frequently been noted, judges a work that he could not create and, if we are to believe certain facile condemnations, would not want to create. A literary critic is a reader who is necessarily severe. By turning inside out like a glove an overworked complex that has become debased to the point of being part of the vocabulary of statesmen, we might say that the literary critic and the professor of rhetoric, who know-all and judge-all, readily go in for a simplex of superiority. As for me, being an addict of felicitous reading, I only read and re-read what I like, with a bit of reader’s pride mixed in with much enthusiasm.”

“Stone-cutters fighting time with marble, you fore defeated Challengers of oblivion Eat cynical earnings, knowing rock splits, records fall down, The square-limbed Roman letters Scale in the thaws, wear in the rain. The poet as well Builds his monument mockingly; For man will be blotted out, the blithe earth die, the brave sun Die blind and blacken to the heart: Yet stones have stood for a thousand years, and pained thoughts found The honey of peace in old poems.”

“something genuine like a mark in a toilet, graced with guts and gutted with grace”

“من محل الورد المقابل للمقبرة يشتري وردا لا يعرف لمن وينتظر.”

“[Poetry] was a form of incantation, a means of welding the world inside his head to the one that surrounded him, words the fiery chain that bound it all together.”

“Shadow is ever besieged, for that is its nature. Whilst darkness devours, and light steals. And so one sees shadow ever retreat to hidden places, only to return in the wake of the war between dark and light.”

“This is life…by all means necessary”

“No lo creo todavía estás llegando a mi lado y la noche es un puñado de estrellas y de alegría palpo gusto escucho y veo tu rostro tu paso largo tus manos y sin embargo todavía no lo creo tu regreso tiene tanto que ver contigo y conmigo que por cábala lo digo y por las dudas lo canto nadie nunca te reemplaza y las cosas más triviales se vuelven fundamentales porque estás llegando a casa sin embargo todavía dudo de esta buena suerte porque el cielo de tenerte me parece fantasía pero venís y es seguro y venís con tu mirada y por eso tu llegada hace mágico el futuro y aunque no siempre he entendido mis culpa y mis fracasos en cambio sé que en tus brazos el mundo tiene sentido y si beso la osadía y el misterio de tus labios no habrá dudas ni resabios te querré más todavía.”

“Cuando uno se enamora las cuadrillasdel tiempo hacen escala en el olvidola desdicha se llena de milagrosel miedo se convierte en osadíay la muerte no sale de su cuevaenamorarse es un presagio gratisuna ventana abierta al árbol nuevouna proeza de los sentimientosuna bonanza casi insoportabley un ejercicio contra el infortuniopor el contrario desenamorarsees ver el cuerpo como es y nocomo la otra mirada lo inventabaes regresar más pobre al viejo enigmay dar con la tristeza en el espejo”

“Poetry will die when love and pain cease to exist.”