How happy is the little stoneThat rambles in the road alone,And doesn't care about careers,And exigencies never fears;Whose coat of elemental brownA passing universe put on;And independent as the sun,...
I do understand that they fall when I'm least able to pay attention because poems fall not from a tree, really, but from the richly pollinated boughs of an ordinary life, buzzing, as lives do, with cl...
I'm making a listI'm making a list of things I must sayFor politeness,And goodness and kindness and gentlenessSweetness and rightness:HelloPardon meHow are you?Excuse meBless youMay I?Thank youGoodbye...
Ich bin ein Stern am Firmament,der die Welt betrachtet, die Welt verachtetund in der eignen Glut verbrennt.Ich bin das Meer, das nächtens stürmt,das klagende Meer, das opferschwerzu alten Sünden neu t...
It is strange how a scrap of poetry works in the mind and makes the legs move in time to it along the road.
It made me happy that poems are referred to in the present tense even when the poet is in the past tense.
Robert Frost didn’t like to explain his poems—and for good reason: to explain a poem is to suck the air from its lungs. This does not mean, however, that poets shouldn’t talk about their poetry, or th...
The heart, I think, which is the home of all things rhythmic, is where learned poems go to live.
There is something about a bureaucrat that does not like a poem.
Twas noontide of summer,And mid-time of night;And stars, in their orbits,Shone pale, thro' the lightOf the brighter, cold moon,'Mid planets her slaves,Herself in the Heavens,Her beam on the waves.I ga...
Versifying left her cold. Poems were too close to prayer, rousing regrettable passions. Waiting for God to rescue you when it was up to you. Poetry and prayer put ideas in people's heads that got them...
Writing, then, was a substitute for myself: if you don't love me, love my writing & love me for my writing. It is also much more: a way of ordering and reordering the chaos of experience.
[L]ife is a phenomenon in need of criticism, for we are, as fallen creatures, in permanent danger of worshipping false gods, of failing to understand ourselves and misinterpreting the behaviour of oth...
Que ferais-je sans ce monde que ferais-je sans ce monde sans visage sans questionsoù être ne dure qu'un instant où chaque instantverse dans le vide dans l'oubli d'avoir étésans cette onde où à la finc...
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