#poets

Another one of the old poets, whose name has escaped my memory at present, called Truth the daughter of Time. ↗

— Aulus Gellius

#called #daughter #escaped #memory #name

There are very few great poets in the world. ↗

— Tahar Ben Jelloun

#great #poets #very #world

I always liked the magic of poetry but now I'm just starting to see behind the curtain of even the best poets, how they've used, tried and tested craft to create the illusion. Wonderful feeling of exhilaration to finally be there. ↗

— David Knopfler

#behind #best #craft #create #curtain

I've had trouble with criticism, I guess. It's hard to know what role criticism plays in either encouraging poets or in getting other people to read them. ↗

— Kenneth Koch

#either #encouraging #getting #guess #had

Maybe there are three or four really good poets in a generation. ↗

— Kenneth Koch

#generation #good #maybe #poets #really

...when a good poet is confronted with difficult facts that he knows to be true but also are inimical to poetry, he has no choice but to flee to the margins; it was...this very retreat that allowed him to hear the hidden music that is the source of all art. ↗

— Orhan Pamuk

#writing-poetry #art

To have great poets, there must be great audiences. ↗

— Walt Whitman

#audiences #great #must #poets

Поетът е роден самотник. Твърде много мисли за любов, за да може да я реализира. ↗

— Blaga Dimitrova

#love #poets #imagination

When Great Trees Fall When great trees fall, rocks on distant hills shudder, lions hunker down in tall grasses, and even elephants lumber after safety. When great trees fall in forests, small things recoil into silence, their senses eroded beyond fear. When great souls die, the air around us becomes light, rare, sterile. We breathe, briefly. Our eyes, briefly, see with a hurtful clarity. Our memory, suddenly sharpened, examines, gnaws on kind words unsaid, promised walks never taken. Great souls die and our reality, bound to them, takes leave of us. Our souls, dependent upon their nurture, now shrink, wizened. Our minds, formed and informed by their radiance, fall away. We are not so much maddened as reduced to the unutterable ignorance of dark, cold caves. And when great souls die, after a period peace blooms, slowly and always irregularly. Spaces fill with a kind of soothing electric vibration. Our senses, restored, never to be the same, whisper to us. They existed. They existed. We can be. Be and be better. For they existed. ↗

— Maya Angelou

#death #i-shall-not-be-moved #life #maya-angelou #peace

Poets are Damned... but See with the Eyes of Angels. ↗

— Allen Ginsberg

#damned #eyes #poets #see