#poetry

I think that it's more likely that in my 60s and 70s I will be writing poetry rather than fiction. ↗

— Robert Morgan

#i #i think #likely #more #poetry

If a poem is not memorable, there's probably something wrong. One of the problems of free verse is that much of the free verse poetry is not memorable. ↗

— Robert Morgan

#free verse #memorable #much #poem #poetry

I'd always loved poetry and I'd always loved writing music and composing music, but I hadn't thought of putting the two together until around that time. ↗

— Bruce Cockburn

#around #composing #hadn #i #loved

The poet doesn't invent. He listens. ↗

— Jean Cocteau

#invent #listens #poet

With heart at rest I climbed the citadel's Steep height, and saw the city as from a tower, Hospital, brothel, prison, and such hells, Where evil comes up softly like a flower. Thou knowest, O Satan, patron of my pain, Not for vain tears I went up at that hour; But like an old sad faithful lecher, fain To drink delight of that enormous trull Whose hellish beauty makes me young again. Whether thou sleep, with heavy vapors full, Sodden with day, or, new appareled, stand In gold-laced veils of evening beautiful, I love thee, infamous city! Harlots and Hunted have pleasures of their own to give, The vulgar herd can never understand. ↗

— Charles Baudelaire

#poetry #beauty

That poetry survived in its formal agencies finally, and that prose survived to get something said. ↗

— Robert Creeley

#finally #formal #get #poetry #prose

I wanted to write the most beautiful poem but that is impossible; the world has written its own. ↗

— Dejan Stojanovic

#dejan-stojanovic #impossible #literature #literature-quotes #philosophy

For while the subjects of poetry are few and recurrent, the moods of man are infinitely various and unstable. It is the same in all arts. ↗

— John Drinkwater

#few #infinitely #man #moods #poetry

If it is an imperfect word, no external circumstance can heighten its value as poetry. ↗

— John Drinkwater

#external #heighten #imperfect #poetry #value

A rose lay open in full bloom and, looking from my garden room, I watched the sun-baked flower fill with rain. It seemed so fragile, resting there, and such a silence filled the air, the beauty of the moment caused me pain. "What more?" I thought. "There must be more." As if in answer then, I saw one weighty drop that caused my rose to fall. It trembled, then cascaded down to earth just staining gentle brown and, since then, I've felt different. That's all. ↗

— Julie Andrews

#poetry #pondering #simplicity #beauty