#poetry

That's the way it is with poetry: When it is incomprehensible it seems profound, and when you understand it, it is only ridiculous. ↗

— Galway Kinnell

#only #poetry #profound #ridiculous #seems

What does that represent? There was never any question in plastic art, in poetry, in music, of representing anything. It is a matter of making something beautiful, moving, or dramatic - this is by no means the same thing. ↗

— Fernand Leger

#anything #art #beautiful #does #dramatic

Written poetry is different. Best thing is to see it in performance first, then read it. Performance is more provocative. ↗

— Adrian Mitchell

#different #first #more #performance #poetry

Thanks partly to the kind of poets that we now have and partly to funding, there's been a gigantic shift in the way poetry is perceived... Poems on the Underground, poets in schools, football clubs, zoos. ↗

— Andrew Motion

#clubs #football #football clubs #funding #gigantic

Reading the very best writers—let us say Homer, Dante, Shakespeare, Tolstoy—is not going to make us better citizens. Art is perfectly useless, according to the sublime Oscar Wilde, who was right about everything. He also told us that all bad poetry is sincere. Had I the power to do so, I would command that these words be engraved above every gate at every university, so that each student might ponder the splendor of the insight. ↗

— Harold Bloom

#oscar-wilde #poetry #reading #age

So now I have a collection of poetry by Aaron Neville and I give it to people I want to share it with. I'd like to publish it someday. ↗

— Aaron Neville

#collection #give #i #like #now

It all has to do with art - writing, painting, things I've done for a long time but just never had enough time to pursue. I have poetry - things that are designed for songs, but they're always poems first. ↗

— Jason Newsted

#art #designed #done #enough #first

My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the pity. ↗

— Wilfred Owen

#poetry #subject #war

When all the world is old, lad, And all the trees are brown; And all the sport is stale, lad, And all the wheels run down, Creep home and take your place there, The spent and maimed among: God grant you find one face there You loved when all was young. ↗

— Susanna Kearsley

#poetry #home

Pruned my subconscious. Discovered new shoots. ↗

— Sally Jo Martine

#contemporary-fairytale #fiber-art #grief #illustrated-fable #inspiration