#poet

No one ever was a great poet, that applied himself much to anything else. ↗

— William Temple

#applied #else #ever #great #himself

My art and poetry is very political now. Because you've got to find that truth within you and express yourself. Somewhere out there, I know, there will be people who will listen. ↗

— Jack Bowman

#because #express #express yourself #find #got

Poetry is rather an approach to things, to life, than it is typographical production. ↗

— Joseph Brodsky

#life #poetry #production #rather #than

I am no Poet here; my pen's the spout where the rain water of my eyes run out. ↗

— John Cleveland

#eyes #here #i #i am #out

Don’t forget to collect the memories on your journey. Remember, if you only focus on your destination, you will miss out on the benefits of the journey. ↗

— Tanya R. Liverman

#motivational #poetry #inspirational

Todos los secretos están guardados en un mismo cajón, el cajón de los secretos, y si develas uno, corres el riesgo de que pase lo mismo con los demás. ↗

— Laura Restrepo

#life

Living is the opposite of poetry. Poetry is the recollection of living, or, more often than not, the lament of having not lived. Or worse yet, merely the contemplation of living. My advice to you, Ms. Harper, is this: Live. And keep living. And never stop to look back to write about what you have lived and observed and overcome, lest you turn into a pillar of salt. This desert life is already full of such monoliths. ↗

— P.S. Baber

#living #poetry #life

Llevo un equipaje de silencio. Me he rodeado de un silencio tan hondo y duradero que nunca acierto a abrirme con las palabras. Cuando hablo, solamente me cierro de otra manera. ↗

— Herta Müller

#life

APPLES SCENT, You arrive in the basement. Immediatly it catches you. Apples are here, lying on fruit trays, turned crates. You didn't think about it. You had no wish to be flooded by this melancholic wave. But you can't resist. Apple scent is a breaker. How could you manage without this childhood, bitter and sweet ? Shrivelled fruits surely are delicious, from this feak dryness where candied taste seems to have wormed in each wrinkle. But you don't wish to eat them. Particularly don't turn into an identifiable taste this floating power of smell. Say that it smells good, strong? But not ..... It's beyond .... An inner scent, scent of a better oneself. Here is shut up school autumn, with purple ink we scratch paper with down strokes and thin strokes. Rain bangs against glasses, evening will be long .... But apple perfume is more than past. You think about formerly because of fullness and intensity from a remembrance of salpetered cellar, dark attic. But it's to live here, stay here, stand up. You have behind you high herbs and damp orchards. Ahead it's like a warm blow given in the shade. Scent got all browns, all reds with a bit of green acid. Scent distilled skin softness, its tiny roughness. Lips dried, we alreadyt know that this thirst is not to be slaked. Nothing would happen if you bite the white flesh. You would need to become october, mud floor, moss of cellar, rain, expectation. Apple scent is painful. It's from a stronger life, a slowness we deserve no more. ↗

— Philippe Delerm

#life

Poetry is not the proper antithesis to prose, but to science. ↗

— Coleridge

#science