#poet

أما العمل الأخطر فهو أن تحضر مهرجانًا شعريًّا يؤمّه هذا الطّراز من الشّعراء، عامّة هناك نوعان من الشّعر حاليًّا... شعر (أتدحرج عبر الطّرقات الشّتويّة... تختفي أزمنة اللّاجدوى...) [...] النّوع الثّاني من الشّعر السّائد حاليًّا هو (مات الّذي قد كان نبراسًا... من بعده ساد الأسى النّاسا)... سوف تسمع الكثير جدًّا من هذا الكلام حتّى ينفجر رأسك، ثمّ يظهر ناقد يمطّ شفته السّفلى في قرف ويتكلّم عن: "البنية الإبداعيّة الكوزموبوليتانيّة في إرهاصات ما بعد الحداثة. هذه هي الممارسة المنهجيّة القوليّة الّقديّة تشكف عن نفسها داخل الطّرح البنيويّ". ↗

— أحمد خالد توفيق

#poetry #poetry-quotes

তবু তোমাকে ভালোবেসে মুহূর্তের মধ্যে ফিরে এসে বুঝেছি অকূলে জেগে রয় ঘড়ির সময়ে আর মহাকালে যেখানেই রাখি এ হৃদয় । ↗

— Jibanananda Das

#poetry-quotes

I'm nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody, too? Then there's a pair of us -- don't tell! They'd banish us, you know. How dreary to be somebody! How public, like a frog To tell your name the livelong day To an admiring bog! ↗

— Emily Dickinson

#poetry-quotes #poetry-quotes

Boast of Quietness" Writings of light assault the darkness, more prodigious than meteors. The tall unknowable city takes over the countryside. Sure of my life and death, I observe the ambitious and would like to understand them. Their day is greedy as a lariat in the air. Their night is a rest from the rage within steel, quick to attack. They speak of humanity. My humanity is in feeling we are all voices of that same poverty. They speak of homeland. My homeland is the rhythm of a guitar, a few portraits, an old sword, the willow grove's visible prayer as evening falls. Time is living me. More silent than my shadow, I pass through the loftily covetous multitude. They are indispensable, singular, worthy of tomorrow. My name is someone and anyone. I walk slowly, like one who comes from so far away he doesn't expect to arrive ↗

— Jorge Luis Borges

#poetry #death

Whatever others may say, they say it to deceive and comfort themselves, not help you. ↗

— Dejan Stojanovic

#comfort #deceit #deceive #dejan-stojanovic #literature

I am the shore and the ocean, awaiting myself on both sides. ↗

— Dejan Stojanovic

#literature #literature-quotes #ocean #poems #poetry

Every star was once darker than the night, before it awoke. ↗

— Dejan Stojanovic

#literature #literature-quotes #night #poetry #poetry-quotes

Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore- Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore- Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore." Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore. ↗

— Edgar Allan Poe

#poetry-quotes

When all is lost, there is still a memory. ↗

— Dejan Stojanovic

#literature #literature-quotes #lost #lost-world #memory

She wrote poetry constantly; that was her "work". She was a slow bleeder and she slaved over it for long, exhausting hours, and many a middle of a night I could hear her creaking around the dead house with a pen in one hand, a clipboard and a flashlight in the other, refining her poems, jotting down the lines of a conceit. Writing never came easy for her; it gave her calluses. She never courted the muses, she wrestled them, mauled them all over the house and came up, after weeks of peripatetic labor, with a slim Spencerian sonnet, fourteen lines of imagistic jabberwocky. ↗

— Millard Kaufman

#poetry-quotes