American Poet Quotes

Emily Dickinson

Robert Frost

Jack Kerouac

Walt Whitman

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

W. H. Auden

Joseph Brodsky

Summary riposte
To the dreary wail
There's no knowing what
Love is all about.
Poets know a lot.

I tasted - careless - then -
I did not know the Wine
Came once a World - Did you?
Oh, had you told me so -
This Thirst would blister - easier - now

Emily Dickinson

In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is stoned to death.

I am like a table
that eats its own legs off
because it's fallen
in love with the floor.

Oh I'm in love with the janitor's boy,
And the janitor's boy loves me;
He's going to hunt for a desert isle
In our geography.

Painters have often taught writers how to see.

The learned astronomer Analyzing the light of most remote star-swirls Has found them — or a trick of distance deludes his prism — All at incredible speeds fleeing outward from ours. I thought, no doubt they are fleeing the contagion Of consciousness that infects this corner of space.

Robinson Jeffers

All finite things reveal infinitude: The mountain with its singular bright shade Like the blue shine on freshly frozen snow, The after-light upon ice-burdened pines; Odor of basswood upon a mountain slope, A scene beloved of bees; Silence of water above a sunken tree: The pure serene of memory of one man,- A ripple widening from a single stone Winding around the waters of the world.

Theodore Roethke

There are rituals not structures for being a poet, drinking too much, taking too many drugs, being a lady chaser, having your nervous breakdown, being irresponsible about money.

The test of an author is not to be found merely in the number of his phrases that pass current in the corner of newspapers... but in the number of passages that have really taken root in younger minds.

Thomas Wentworth Higginson

O God, in the dream the terrible horse began
To paw at the air, and make for me with his blows.

Sometimes very strong feelings don't get written up because the interesting metaphor or dramatic situation doesn't suggest itself. So much of one's life goes unused.

How can I appreciate light from an aging
sun shining through new configurations neither pine
nor ash? How can I extol the nuturing
fragrances from the spires, the spicules
of a landscape not yet formed or seeded?

Pattiann Rogers

'THIS ROOM HAS MYSTERY LIKE A TRANCE' This room has mystery like a trance Of wine ; forget-me-nots of you Are chair and couch, the books your Fingers touched. And now that you Are absent here the silence scrapes A secret rust from everything; While sudden wreaths of sorrow's Dust uncover emptiness like halls To stumble through, and terror falls

Kenneth Patchen

If a poet has any obligation toward society, it is to write well. Being in the minority, he has no other choice. Failing this duty, he sinks into oblivion. Society, on the other hand, has no obligation toward the poet.

We are striving to forge our union with purpose.
To compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters, and conditions of man.

Now: For those of you who are lazy I can offer no hope: death will not bring you an eternal resting place. You may rest, if this is your wish, for a while. Not only must you use your abilities after death, however, but you must face up to yourself for those that you did not use during your previous existence...

But when the conquered spirit breaks free And indicates a new light Who'll take care of the cats?

My son called to me that God was inside his red fire engine. He wanted to show me. I did move as fast as I could, spilling like water through the kitchen door into a summer day, but God had left by the time I got there. My son smiled, told me I'd missed him by seconds.

If you will tell me why the fen appears impassable, I then will tell you why I think that I can cross it if I try.

Here's to the wind blowing against this lighted house and to the vast, windless spaces between the stars.

The past is not only that which happened but also that which could have happened but did not.

All the things we hide in water
Hoping we won't see them go.
Forests growing under water
Press against the ones we know.

A man's motive in the small actions of daily life, like resting a moment on his pitchfork in the sun and listening intently, may be the most important thing about that man.

Oh, a wondrous bird is the pelican!
His beak holds more than his belican.
He takes in his beak
Enough food for a week.
But I'll be darned if I know how the helican.

Dixon Lanier Merritt