Wallace Stevens Quotes - Page 10

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Cold is our element and winter's air
Brings voices as of lions coming down.

Wallace Stevens

Winter, Air, Voice

Wallace Stevens (2011). “The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens”, p.134, Vintage

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Of what is real I say,
Is it the old, the roseate parent or
The bride come jingling, kissed and cupped, or else
The spirit and all ensigns of the self?

Wallace Stevens

Real, Self, Parent

Wallace Stevens (2011). “The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens”, p.308, Vintage

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One must have a mind of winter to regard the frost and the boughs of the pine trees, crusted with snow, And have been cold a long time, to behold the junipers, shagged with ice, the spruces, rough in the distant glitter of the January sun, and not to think of any misery in the sound of the wind, in the sound of a few leaves, which is the sound of the land, full of the same wind, blowing in the same bare place for the listener, who listens in the snow, and, nothing herself, beholds nothing that is not there, and the nothing that is.

Wallace Stevens

Time, Winter, Thinking

Wallace Stevens (2011). “The Palm at the End of the Mind: Selected Poems and a Play”, p.89, Vintage

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I measure myself Against a tall tree I find that I am much taller, For I reach right up to the sun With my eye; And I reach to the shore of the sea With my ear. Nevertheless, I dislike The way the ants crawl In and out of my shadow.

Wallace Stevens

Eye, Sea, Tree

Wallace Stevens (2011). “Opus Posthumous: Poems, Plays, Prose”, p.45, Vintage

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Fromage and coffee and cognac and no gods.

Wallace Stevens

Coffee, Cognac

Wallace Stevens (2011). “Opus Posthumous: Poems, Plays, Prose”, p.124, Vintage

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Thus the theory of description matters most.
It is the theory of the word for those
For whom the word is the making of the world,
The buzzing world and lisping firmament.

Wallace Stevens

World, Matter, Description

Wallace Stevens (2011). “The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens”, p.345, Vintage

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The word is the making of the world

Wallace Stevens

World

Wallace Stevens (2011). “Selected Poems”, p.182, Knopf

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New York is a field of tireless and antagonistic interests undoubtedly fascinating but horribly unreal. Everybody is looking at everybody else a foolish crowd walking on mirrors.

Wallace Stevens

New York, Stupid, Walking Away

Wallace Stevens, Holly Stevens (1966). “Letters of Wallace Stevens”, p.38, Univ of California Press

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If some really acute observer made as much of egotism as Freud has made of sex, people would forget a good deal about sex and find the explanation for everything in egotism.

Wallace Stevens

Sex, People, Political

Holly Stevens, Wallace Stevens (1977). “Souvenirs and prophecies: the young Wallace Stevens”, Random House Inc

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It has to be living, to learn the speech of the place, It has to face the man of the time.

Wallace Stevens

Time, Men, Speech

1942 Parts of a World,'Of Modern Poetry'.

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It is easy to suppose that few people realize on that occasion, which comes to all of us, when we look at the blue sky for the first time, that is to say: not merely see it, but look at it and experience it and for the first time have a sense that we live in the center of a physical poetry, a geography that would be intolerable except for the non-geography that exists there - few people realize that they are looking at the world of their own thoughts and the world of their own feelings.

Wallace Stevens

Blue, Sky, People

Wallace Stevens (2011). “The Necessary Angel: Essays on Reality and the Imagination”, p.65, Vintage

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LIGHT FROM WITHIN my friend, cancer got you damn it: you had it beat for seven years at least. how did it come back? Why all that pain. again. and you, such a fighter you fought me over and over with tears and words and promises. you fought for me with honesty and a light so bright it hurts my heart. sweet lorna. at peace now finally no more battles, just light from within a flickering candle in the dark burns with you.

Wallace Stevens

Sweet, Hurt, Peace

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Like the Sweetness of Gardenias Mother, you died 15 years ago. pain, a rapier, cut until, finally, there was just peace like the sweetness of gardenias in the crystal vase on your yellow kitchen table. so fragrant. your voice lingers in my ear reminding, scolding, guiding a pleasant mantra of tenderness, magic words that move my palms, your palms. together we are molding, helping, creating. in the mirror I see your eyes, your beautiful brown circles looking back, so radiant. "don't forget me," you whispered the day you died. I won't.

Wallace Stevens

Beautiful, Mother, Peace

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The consolations of space are nameless things. It was after the neurosis of winter. It was In the genius of summer that they blew up The statue of Jove among the boomy clouds. It took all day to quieten the sky And then to refill its emptiness again.

Wallace Stevens

Summer, Winter, Clouds

Wallace Stevens (2011). “The Palm at the End of the Mind: Selected Poems and a Play”, p.429, Vintage

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Money is a kind of poetry.

Wallace Stevens

Poetry, Kind, Making Money

Quoted in Harper's, Oct 1985.

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At evening casual flocks of pigeons make
Ambiguous undulations as they sink
Downward to darkness, on extended wings.

Wallace Stevens

Wings, Poetry, Darkness

'Sunday Morning, I' (1923)

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Ethics are no more a part of poetry than theyare of painting.

Wallace Stevens

Ethics, Painting

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The muddy rivers of spring
Are snarling
Under the muddy skies.
The mind is muddy.

Wallace Stevens

Spring, Rivers, Sky

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The old brown hen and the old blue sky,
Between the two we live and die
The broken cartwheel on the hill.

Wallace Stevens

Life, Country, Blue

Wallace Stevens (2011). “The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens”, p.359, Vintage

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There's no such thing as life; or if there is,
It is faster than the weather, faster than
Any character. It is more than any scene:
Of the guillotine or of any glamorous hanging.

Wallace Stevens

Life, Character, Weather

Wallace Stevens (2011). “The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens”, p.192, Vintage

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It may be that the ignorant man, alone,
Has any chance to mate his life with life
That is the sensual, pearly spouse, the life
That is fluent in even the wintriest bronze.

Wallace Stevens

Life, Men, Ignorant

Wallace Stevens (2011). “The Palm at the End of the Mind: Selected Poems and a Play”, p.231, Vintage

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After a lustre of the moon, we say
We have not the need of any paradise,
We have not the need of any seducing hymn.

Wallace Stevens

Moon, Hymns, Needs

Wallace Stevens (2011). “The Palm at the End of the Mind: Selected Poems and a Play”, p.290, Vintage

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It was autumn and falling stars
Covered the shrivelled forms
Crouched in the moonlight.

Wallace Stevens

Stars, Fall, Autumn

Wallace Stevens (2011). “The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens”, p.147, Vintage

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The wind,
Tempestuous clarion, with heavy cry,
Came bluntly thundering, more terrible
Than the revenge of music on bassoons.

Wallace Stevens

Revenge, Wind, Cry

Wallace Stevens (2011). “The Palm at the End of the Mind: Selected Poems and a Play”, p.100, Vintage

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The grackles sing avant the spring
Most spiss oh! Yes, most spissantly.
They sing right puissantly.

Wallace Stevens

Spring

Wallace Stevens (2011). “The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens”, p.133, Vintage

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Born: October 2, 1879
Died: August 2, 1955
Occupation: Poet
Cite this Page: Citation

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