#poetry

Poetry comes alive to me through recitation. ↗

— Natalie Merchant

#comes #me #poetry #recitation #through

We left you there, lonely, Beauty your power, Wisdom your watchman, To hold the clay tower. from 'The Tale of the Tiger Tree ↗

— Vachel Lindsay

#beauty

Theater is far superior to film in poetry, in abstract poetry. ↗

— Julie Taymor

#far #film #poetry #superior #theater

I do not go in search of poetry. I wait for poetry to visit me. ↗

— Eugenio Montale

#i #i do #me #poetry #search

Slowly poetry becomes visual because it paints images, but it is also musical: it unites two arts into one. ↗

— Eugenio Montale

#arts #because #becomes #images #into

For my part, if I consider poetry as an object, I maintain that it is born of the necessity of adding a vocal sound (speech) to the hammering of the first tribal music. ↗

— Eugenio Montale

#born #consider #first #hammering #i

I loved a woman whose beauty Like the moon moved all the humming heavens to music till the stars with their tiny teeth burst into song and I fell on the ground before her while the sky hardened and she laughed and turned me down softly, I was so young. ↗

— Peter Meinke

#poetry #rejection #beauty

I'm not really quiet or shy. Ask any of my friends! But I always ground my poetry in life itself. Poetry is an art of language, though, so I am always aware of every word's meaning, or multiple meanings. ↗

— Anne Stevenson

#am #any #art #ask #aware

Poetry is as precise a thing as geometry. ↗

— Gustave Flaubert

#poetry #precise #thing

On No Work of Words On no work of words now for three lean months in the bloody Belly of the rich year and the big purse of my body I bitterly take to task my poverty and craft: To take to give is all, return what is hungrily given Puffing the pounds of manna up through the dew to heaven, The lovely gift of the gab bangs back on a blind shaft. To lift to leave from the treasures of man is pleasing death That will rake at last all currencies of the marked breath And count the taken, forsaken mysteries in a bad dark. To surrender now is to pay the expensive ogre twice. Ancient woods of my blood, dash down to the nut of the seas If I take to burn or return this world which is each man's work. ↗

— Dylan Thomas

#poetry #reciprocity #writer-s-block #death