"Sometimes you finish the poem, and that last piece clicks in place. Sometimes the poem is finished with you."

— Frederick Seidel, The Art of Poetry No. 95 (via bostonpoetryslam)

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EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY

poetrysince1912:

My candle burns at both ends;
   It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—
   It gives a lovely light!

Poetry, June 1918
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poetsorg:

“The Haw Lantern” by Seamus Heaney.

poetsorg:

“The Haw Lantern” by Seamus Heaney.

(via fuckyeahmanuscripts)

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"Don’t speak in POETRY VOICE. You know what I mean."

— Advice on reading and readings from Michelle Tea’s Queer Space with Homemade Cookies | Poets and Writers (via housingworksbookstore)

(via housingworksbookstore)

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theparisreview:

INTERVIEWER
Have you ever had any poems that were gifts? Poems that seemed to write themselves?
BISHOP
Oh, yes. Once in a while it happens. I wanted to write a villanelle all my life but I never could. I’d start them but for some reason I never could finish them. And one day I couldn’t believe it—it was like writing a letter. There was one rhyme I couldn’t get that ended in e-n-t and a friend of mine, the poet Frank Bidart, came to see me and I said, “Frank, give me a rhyme.” He gave me a word offhand and I put it in. But neither he nor I can remember which word it was. But that kind of thing doesn’t happen very often. Maybe some poets always write that way. I don’t know.
—Elizabeth Bishop, The Art of Poetry No. 27

theparisreview:

INTERVIEWER

Have you ever had any poems that were gifts? Poems that seemed to write themselves?

BISHOP

Oh, yes. Once in a while it happens. I wanted to write a villanelle all my life but I never could. I’d start them but for some reason I never could finish them. And one day I couldn’t believe it—it was like writing a letter. There was one rhyme I couldn’t get that ended in e-n-t and a friend of mine, the poet Frank Bidart, came to see me and I said, “Frank, give me a rhyme.” He gave me a word offhand and I put it in. But neither he nor I can remember which word it was. But that kind of thing doesn’t happen very often. Maybe some poets always write that way. I don’t know.

Elizabeth Bishop, The Art of Poetry No. 27

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"If nothing once, you nothing lose,
For when you die you are the same;
The space between is but an hour,
The frail duration of flower."

—  Philip Freneau, from “The Wild Honeysuckle” (via the-final-sentence)

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"We tell each other stories to help each other live. That’s why I read poetry. I read poetry to stay alive. That’s why I went to poetry in the first place, that’s why I stay with it, that’s why I’ll never leave it."

— Marie Howe, interviewed by Victoria Redel for BOMB Magazine (via bostonpoetryslam)

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"There’s no money in poetry, but there’s no poetry in money, either."

— Robert Graves (via taylorbooks)

(via writeworld)

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"Every moment is a poem if you hold it right."

— Lauren Zuniga (via feellng)

(via brouhahamagazine)

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"

What would it be like
to live in a library
of melted books.

With sentences streaming over the floor
and all the punctuation
settled to the bottom as a residue.

It would be confusing.
Unforgivable.
A great adventure.

"

— Anne Carson (via avvfvl)

(Source: larmoyante, via brouhahamagazine)

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