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Quotes about poems

Yasunari Kawabata

A poetess who had died young of cancer had said in one of her poems that for her, on sleepless nights, 'the night offers toads and black dogs and corpses of the drowned.

in House of the Sleeping Beauties And Other StoriesReport problemRelated quotes
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For your birthday
I have nothing to offer you.
Maybe, later on,
you will be told I wrote
a few love poems.

tanka by from Nude With Anthurium (1999), translated by Manuela MigaReport problemRelated quotes
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John Fowles

We all write poems; it is simply that poets are the ones who write in words.

in The French Lieutenant's Woman (1969)Report problemRelated quotes
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Kenneth Rexroth

Cat

There are too many poems
About cats. Beware of cat
Lovers, they have a hidden
Frustration somewhere and will
Stick you with it if they can.

poem by from A Bestiary (1956)Report problemRelated quotes
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Oscar Wilde

To My Wife - With a Copy of My Poems

I can write no stately proem
As a prelude to my lay;
From a poet to a poem
I would dare to say.

For if of these fallen petals
One to you seem fair,
Love will waft it till it settles
On your hair.

And when wind and winter harden
All the loveless land,
It will whisper of the garden,
You will understand.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
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Five Charms in Praise of Bewilderment

1.
At first when you leave town,

the dog and I maintain dignified silence.
After no more than two hours
I’m talking to her, after three
she’s telling me the story of her life.
I nod my head at every word,
encouraging her
to take all the time she needs.

2.
I have the vice

of courting poems.
Pathetic, I know.
I also like to watch Oprah
if no one is around to notice.
That’s right,
I court poems, I watch Oprah,

[...] Read more

poem by from Invisible Strings (2011)Report problemRelated quotes
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Alone, Looking For Blossoms Along The River

The sorrow of riverside blossoms inexplicable,
And nowhere to complain -- I've gone half crazy.
I look up our southern neighbor. But my friend in wine
Gone ten days drinking. I find only an empty bed.

A thick frenzy of blossoms shrouding the riverside,
I stroll, listing dangerously, in full fear of spring.
Poems, wine -- even this profusely driven, I endure.
Arrangements for this old, white-haired man can wait.

A deep river, two or three houses in bamboo quiet,
And such goings on: red blossoms glaring with white!
Among spring's vociferous glories, I too have my place:
With a lovely wine, bidding life's affairs bon voyage.

Looking east to Shao, its smoke filled with blossoms,
I admire that stately Po-hua wineshop even more.
To empty golden wine cups, calling such beautiful
Dancing girls to embroidered mats -- who could bear it?

[...] Read more

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Byron

Canto the Fourth

I
Nothing so difficult as a beginning
In poesy, unless perhaps the end;
For oftentimes when Pegasus seems winning
The race, he sprains a wing, and down we tend,
Like Lucifer when hurl'd from heaven for sinning;
Our sin the same, and hard as his to mend,
Being pride, which leads the mind to soar too far,
Till our own weakness shows us what we are.

II
But Time, which brings all beings to their level,
And sharp Adversity, will teach at last
Man, -- and, as we would hope, -- perhaps the devil,
That neither of their intellects are vast:
While youth's hot wishes in our red veins revel,
We know not this -- the blood flows on too fast;
But as the torrent widens towards the ocean,
We ponder deeply on each past emotion.

[...] Read more

poem by from Don Juan (1824)Report problemRelated quotes
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Wang Wei

Written on the Wang River Scroll

No urge now to write poems.
Old age is my companion.
In error they made me a poet in a past life.
Some lost existence had me as a painter.
Unable to get rid of ingrained habits,
The world has come to know me by them.
My name, my style, they may grasp, it’s true.
But my mind and heart they’ll never know.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
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Edgar Lee Masters

Many Soldiers

The idea danced before us as a flag;
The sound of martial music;
The thrill of carrying a gun;
Advancement in the world on coming home;
A glint of glory, wrath for foes;
A dream of duty to country or to God.
But these were things in ourselves, shining before us,
They were not the power behind us,
Which was the Almighty hand of Life,
Like fire at earth’s centre making mountains,
Or pent up waters that cut them through.
Do you remember the iron band
The blacksmith, Shack Dye, welded
Around the oak on Bennet’s lawn,
From which to swing a hammock,
That daughter Janet might repose in, reading
On summer afternoons?
And that the growing tree at last
Sundered the iron band?
But not a cell in all the tree

[...] Read more

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
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