Poets and painters are outside the class system or rather they constitute a special class of their own like the circus people and the gypsies.
. . . Orpheus struck dumb with hindsight.
An owl sound wandered along the road with me.I didn't hear it--I breathed it into my ears.
The poet or the revolutionary is there to articulate the necessity, but until the people themselves apprehend it, nothing can happen ... Perhaps it can't be done without the poet, but it certainly can...
A true poet is one who can appreciate the disciplines and structures of any and all styles of poetry.
I act as the tongue of you,... tied in your mouth . . . . in mine it begins to be loosened.
Maybe I just didn’t want it to be Benny because he really loves her, and if I was wrong about that, it’d be depressing. Who wants to be depressed?Poets, Eve decided. You have to think they must.Okay,...
It is as if the soul of the continent is weeping. Why does it weep? It weeps for the bones of the buffalo. It weeps for magic that has been forgotten. It weeps for the decline of poets.It weepsfor the...
There are nine and sixty ways of constructing tribal lays and every single one of them is right.
I wish our clever young poets would remember my homely definitions of prose and poetry that is prose - words in their best order poetry - the best words in their best order.
The poet is the priest of the invisible.
Poetry is not a profession it's a destiny.
A single wire hanger on a nail by itselfIsn't bad though a stack of them on a floorIs too gloomy for words.
I'd rather die fighting over great poets than over gods.
. . . poetry, like all imaginative creations, divines the human enterprise. This is poetry's social value.
Poets utter great and wise things which they do not themselves understand.
When one does something, one must do it wholly and well. Those bastard existences where you sell suet all day and write poetry at night are made for mediocre minds – like those horses that are equally...
Walking by yourself in the rain is for college kids who think loneliness makes poets.
Poetry is the impish attempt to paint the colour of the wind.
Most joyful let the Poet be it is through him that all men see.