#poetry

They need to learn poetry. They don't need to learn about poetry. They don't need to be told how to interpret poetry. They don't need to be told how to understand poetry. They need to learn it. ↗

— Peter Davison

#how #interpret #learn #need #poetry

Poetry, even when apparently most fantastic, is always a revolt against artifice, a revolt, in a sense, against actuality. ↗

— James Joyce

#against #always #apparently #artifice #even

Poetry asks people to have values, form opinions, care about some other part of experience besides making money and being successful on the job. ↗

— Toi Derricotte

#asks #being #besides #care #experience

I still read Donne, particularly his love poems. ↗

— Carol Ann Duffy

#his #i #love #particularly #poems

I have piles of poetry books in the bathroom, on the stairs, everywhere. The only way to write poetry is to read it. ↗

— Carol Ann Duffy

#books #everywhere #i #only #piles

I sense the world might be more dreamlike, metaphorical, and poetic than we currently believe--but just as irrational as sympathetic magic when looked at in a typically scientific way. I wouldn't be surprised if poetry--poetry in the broadest sense, in the sense of a world filled with metaphor, rhyme, and recurring patterns, shapes, and designs--is how the world works. The world isn't logical, it's a song. ↗

— David Byrne

#music #poetry #design

Poetry is emotion put into measure. The emotion must come by nature, but the measure can be acquired by art. ↗

— Thomas Hardy

#art #come #emotion #into #measure

Poetry, especially traditional Iranian poetry, is very good at looking at things from a number of different angles simultaneously. ↗

— Asghar Farhadi

#different #different angles #especially #good #iranian

The mystic purchases a moment of exhilaration with a lifetime of confusion; and the confusion is infectious and destructive. It is confusing and destructive to try and explain anything in terms of anything else, poetry in terms of psychology. ↗

— Basil Bunting

#confusing #confusion #destructive #else #exhilaration

In this brief transit where the dreams cross The dreamcrossed twilight between birth and dying (Bless me father) though I do not wish to wish these things From the wide window towards the granite shore The white sails still fly seaward, seaward flying Unbroken wings And the lost heart stiffens and rejoices In the lost lilac and the lost sea voices And the weak spirit quickens to rebel For the bent golden-rod and the lost sea smell Quickens to recover The cry of quail and the whirling plover And the blind eye creates The empty forms between the ivory gates And smell renews the salt savour of the sandy earth This is the time of tension between dying and birth The place of solitude where three dreams cross Between blue rocks But when the voices shaken from the yew-tree drift away Let the other yew be shaken and reply. ↗

— T.S. Eliot

#poetry #religion #dreams