Even when poetry has a meaning, as it usually has, it may be inadvisable to draw it out... Perfect understanding read more

Even when poetry has a meaning, as it usually has, it may be inadvisable to draw it out... Perfect understanding will sometimes almost extinguish pleasure.

Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen

Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen

For me, poetry is an impish attempt to paint the colour of the wind.

For me, poetry is an impish attempt to paint the colour of the wind.

Prose--words in their best order;--poetry--the best words in
their best order.

Prose--words in their best order;--poetry--the best words in
their best order.

Poetry is the art of uniting pleasure with truth.

Poetry is the art of uniting pleasure with truth.

Poetry comes nearer to vital truth than history.

Poetry comes nearer to vital truth than history.

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).

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.

A poem is true if it hangs together. Information points to something else. A poem points to nothing but itself.

A poem is true if it hangs together. Information points to something else. A poem points to nothing but itself.