Why then we should drop into poetry.

Why then we should drop into poetry.

Poetry is a way of taking life by the throat.

Poetry is a way of taking life by the throat.

Of our conflicts with others we make rhetoric; of our conflicts with ourselves we make poetry.

Of our conflicts with others we make rhetoric; of our conflicts with ourselves we make poetry.

CONSIDERING THE VOID
When I behold the charm
of evening skies, their lulling endurance;
the patterns of stars with read more

CONSIDERING THE VOID
When I behold the charm
of evening skies, their lulling endurance;
the patterns of stars with names
of bears and dogs, a swan, a virgin;
other planets that the Voyager showed
were like and so unlike our own,
with all their diverse moons,
bright discs, weird rings, and cratered faces;
comets with their streaming tails
bent by pressure from our sun;
the skyscape of our Milky Way
holding in its shimmering disc
an infinity of suns
(or say a thousand billion);
knowing there are holes of darkness
gulping mass and even light,
knowing that this galaxy of ours
is one of multitudes
in what we call the heavens,
it troubles me. It troubles me.
-President Jimmy Carter- (he has written a volume of poetry as well as a novel, The Hornet's Nest,
about the Revolutionary War).

The job of the poet is to render the world--to see it and report it without loss, without perversion. No read more

The job of the poet is to render the world--to see it and report it without loss, without perversion. No poet ever talks about feelings. Only sentimental people do.

Poetry should be common in experience but uncommon in books.

Poetry should be common in experience but uncommon in books.

It is in self-limitation that a master first shows himself.

It is in self-limitation that a master first shows himself.

Poetry is itself a thing of God;
He made his prophets poets;and the more
We feel of read more

Poetry is itself a thing of God;
He made his prophets poets;and the more
We feel of poesie do we become
Like God in love and power,--under-makers.

Doeg, though without knowing how or why,
Made a still a blundering kind of melody;
Spurr'd boldly read more

Doeg, though without knowing how or why,
Made a still a blundering kind of melody;
Spurr'd boldly on, and dash'd through thick and thin,
Through sense and nonsense, never out nor in;
Free from all meaning whether good or bad,
And in one word, heroically mad.