Men expect too much, do too little.
So face with calm that heritage
And earn contempt before the age.
Poets are mysterious, but a poet when all is said is not much more mysterious than a banker.
The mission for the day is to encourage students to think beyond traditional career opportunities, prepare for future careers and entrance into the workplace.
I have felt darkness lead me by the hand
Over the hill to greet the singing dawn....
But we shall not know the world by looking at it; we know it by looking at the hovering fly.
For some reason most critics have a hard time fixing their minds directly under their noses, and before they see the object that is there they use a telescope upon the horizon to see where it came from.
Serious poetry deals with the fundamental conflicts that cannot be logically resolved: we can state the conflicts rationally, but reason does not relieve us of them.
Dark accurate plunger down the successive knell
Of arch on arch, where ogives burst a red
Reverberance of hail upon the dead
Thunder like an exploding crucible!
The torrent of the reaching shade
Broke shadow into all its parts,
What then had been of shadow made
Found exigence in fits and starts....
The dusk runs down the lane driven like hail;
Far off a precise whistle is escheat
To the dark; and then the towering weak and pale....
Venus knows country matters: country knows Venus:
For Love, Dione's boy, was born on the farm.
Yevgeny Yevtushenko is a ham actor, not a poet.
Last night I fled until I came
To streets where leaking casements dripped
Stale lamplight from the corpse of flame;
A nervous window bled.
The twilight is long fingers and black hair.
And I have seen long fingers that would stare
With fiery eyes, and then the eyes would crawl
Deftly across the counterpane and fall
Soundless, with a wink of mild despair.
Death's long anabasis.
Dramatic experience is not logical; it may be subdued to the kind of coherence that we indicate when we speak, in criticism, of form.
Other psychological theories say a good deal about compensation.
Experience means conflict, our natures being what they are, and conflict means drama.
How does one happen to write a poem: where does it come from? That is the question asked by the psychologists or the geneticists of poetry.
I say that what one loves is best:
The midnight fastness of the heart.
A poem may be an instance of morality, of social conditions, of psychological history; it may instance all its qualities, but never one of them alone, nor any two or three; never less than all.
Punctilious abyss, the yawn of space
Come once a day to suffocate the sight.
What is the flesh and blood compounded ofBut a few moments in the life of time?This prowling of the cells, litigious love,Wears the long claw of flesh-arguing crime.
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