All Quotes By Tag: Poetry

“]Sardisoften turning her thoughts here]you like a goddessand in your song most of all she rejoiced.But now she is conspicuous among Lydian womenas sometimes at sunsetthe rosyfingered moonsurpasses all the stars. And her lightstretches over salt seaequally and flowerdeep fields.And the beautiful dew is poured outand roses bloom and frailchervil and flowering sweetclover.But she goes back and forth rememberinggentle Atthis and in longingshe bites her tender mind”

“]sing to usthe one with violets in her lap]mostly]goes astray”

“And I choose to be aloneRather than wrapped in arms I could never need.”

“Let them shoot us in the head,My blood will grow rootsand will blossom.”

“There is bad in all good authors: what a pity the converse isn’t true!”

“The element of craftsmanship in poetry is obscured by the fact that all men are taught to speak and most to read and write, while very few men are taught to draw or paint or write music.”

“…the collective wisdom of humanity [is] enshrined in its poetry.”

“Мы не умеем прощаться,-Всё бродим плечо к плечу.Уже начинает смеркаться,Ты задумчив, а я молчу.В церковь войдем, увидимОтпеванье, крестины, брак,Не взглянув друг на друга, выйдем…Отчего всё у нас не так?Или сядем на снег примятыйНа кладбище, легко вздохнем,И ты палкой чертишь палаты,Где мы будем всегда вдвоем.”

“When words lose their meaning, physical force takes over.from an essay for Writers by Nancy Crampton”

“Mon Dieu, la vie est par trop moche.”

“I will go to campus alone dressed in antique silk slips and beat-up cowboy boots and gypsy beads, and I will study poetry. I will sit on the edge of the fountain in the plaza and write.”

“no poet can know what his poem is going to be like until he has written it.”

“New York! I say New York, let black blood flow into your blood.Let it wash the rust from your steel joints, like an oil of life Let it give your bridges the curve of hips and supple vines. Now the ancient age returns, unity is restored, The recociliation of the Lion and Bull and Tree Idea links to action, the ear to the heart, sign to meaning. See your rivers stirring with musk alligators And sea cows with mirage eyes. No need to invent the Sirens. Just open your eyes to the April rainbow And your eyes, especially your ears, to God Who in one burst of saxophone laughter Created heaven and earth in six days, And on the seventh slept a deep Negro sleep.”

“Les enfants qui s’aiment s’embrassent deboutContre les portes de la nuitEt les passants qui passent les désignent du doigtMais les enfants qui s’aimentNe sont là pour personneEt c’est seulement leur ombreQui tremble dans la nuitExcitant la rage des passantsLeur rage, leur mépris, leurs rires et leur envieLes enfants qui s’aiment ne sont là pour personneIls sont ailleurs bien plus loin que la nuitBien plus haut que le jourDans l’éblouissante clarté de leur premier amour”

“Remember BarbaraIt rained all day on Brest that dayAnd you walked smilingFlushed enraptured streaming-wetIn the rainRemember BarbaraIt rained all day on Brest that dayAnd I ran into you in Siam StreetYou were smilingAnd I smiled tooRemember BarbaraYou whom I didn’t knowYou who didn’t know meRememberRemember that day stillDon’t forgetA man was taking cover on a porchAnd he cried your nameBarbaraAnd you ran to him in the rainStreaming-wet enraptured flushedAnd you threw yourself in his armsRemember that BarbaraAnd don’t be mad if I speak familiarlyI speak familiarly to everyone I loveEven if I’ve seen them only onceI speak familiarly to all who are in loveEven if I don’t know themRemember BarbaraDon’t forgetThat good and happy rainOn your happy faceOn that happy townThat rain upon the seaUpon the arsenalUpon the Ushant boatOh BarbaraWhat shitstupidity the warNow what’s become of youUnder this iron rainOf fire and steel and bloodAnd he who held you in his armsAmorouslyIs he dead and gone or still so much aliveOh BarbaraIt’s rained all day on Brest todayAs it was raining beforeBut it isn’t the same anymoreAnd everything is wreckedIt’s a rain of mourning terrible and desolateNor is it still a stormOf iron and steel and bloodBut simply cloudsThat die like dogsDogs that disappearIn the downpour drowning BrestAnd float away to rotA long way offA long long way from BrestOf which there’s nothing left.”