#on poets

[petertqrk]

Poets and writers sometimes gave me great ideas. One of my favorite books was The Four Loves by C.S. Lewis. It was a great way of looking at all the different ways people express love: romantic love, friendship, charity, and sex. All of them are so important. They’re all things I have used in my life. Charity is especially interesting as an idea because it’s so simple. You share what you have with people who need it, and maybe when you need something, someone will share with you. What could be more pure than that?

— Brian Wilson, I Am Brian Wilson

[rmscarpathia]

“& this is how the street poet dies / not with a bang / but how you came in here wanting / and left wanting more”

— Lydia Eileen, Dog Poems

[lifeinpoetry]

The poet does not forget or forgive: she haunts. She is unafraid of her anger, understands it as love. For herself.

Kristin Chang, from “Why I Write,” published in Connotation Press

[rmscarpathia]

“Poet as giver. Poet as dichotomy. Poet as perennial mess. Poet as burned-at-own-stake. Poet as / canvas and brush. Poet as borderland.” 

― Irene Vazquez, Ars Poetica

[amomentarydot]

[smilesandsarcasm12]

They say all the best play-writes are poets. Wordsmiths warp words into worlds so real when people play pretend we believe them.

Twist my tongue, manipulate my mouth so that when I speak I’m not longer myself but Isabelle, Eurydice, Ophelia. Their words rushing up to meet me, pouring out of me the way sand falls through an hourglass. Our time together is limited and you are giving me all of you so in exchange here is my voice. Here is all of me in return for your lyrical structure, your perfect problems.

The way I hold your world in my hands. The way the words are as much mine as they are yours and how for for a moment we speak with the same voices. How without my breath you are nothing but text. Begging to be spoken, praying to be listened to. How when I speak our shared words I hope someone is listening too.

[amindsarchive]

الشعر الجدير بهذه التسمية يبدأ بتجربة الاصطدام بالقدر -- وحدهم الشعراء الرديئون يشعرون بالحرية.

إميل سيوران، لصّ الأغوار، المياه كلها بلون الغرق