But you have to understand that I consider myself a very modest artist, or whatever, and not of importance really at all - it is quite embarrassing to me to be asked my opinion about things. I am only a wee Scottish poet on the outside of everything.
quote by Ian Hamilton Finlay
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
The crazy Poet!
The crazy Poet
did a crazy poem
when I asked the hours to him
he replied that his watch
was not right!
It had a headache
And his time was converted into 22 tears hours
I, no longer understand anything,
said to him
- Why Poet speaks the language unrepaired -
Forget the hours Poet, and their rhymes?
He said, Ah! , galvanize, crystallize and agonize
And I ask you again
And your love?
And Him to me: Broken, breaking
and enveloping
Now, try understand a Poet! ! !
poem by Mirna Morgan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The life of a Poet
The poet listens
the poet hears
he writes down
all his fears.
He observes things
that others don't
going to places
that others won't.
Inspired by simple things
like a sound or smell
the poet has lots
of stories to tell.
Even when asleep
his mind isn't at rest
in fact this is the time
it's at it's creative best.
The poet can be a restless soul
his life reflected on the page
some verse can be sweet and mild
then full of anger and rage.
The poet can be mysterious
and write in a strange way
he will say Black is White
and that night is day.
The poet is an artist
but instead of paint it's the word
painters want their work to be seen
but poets just need to be heard.
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poet I Am', And 'The Poet I Am Not
The poet I am, and the poet I am not
‘The poet I am’ says
To ‘the poet I am not’,
‘Why can’t I be more like you? ’
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Because you are not good enough’
And ‘the poet I am’ begins to cry,
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Real poets cry for more meaningful things’
And ‘the poet I am’ says ‘I am who I am and what I will be means so much to me. But still I am not the poet I wanted to be’.
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Exactly. Were you less concerned with who you are and more concerned with others you might be a bit more of a poet than you are now.’
And ‘the poet I am’ is silent.
And ‘the poet I am not’is somewhere else being someone else
That ‘the poet I am and the poet I am not’ cannot see or dream.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Artist
The Artist and his Luckless Wife
They lead a horrid haunted life,
Surrounded by the things he's made
That are not wanted by the trade.
The world is very fair to see;
The Artist will not let it be;
He fiddles with the works of God,
And makes them look uncommon odd.
The Artist is an awful man,
He does not do the things he can;
He does the things he cannot do,
And we attend the private view.
The Artist uses honest paint
To represent things as they ain't,
He then asks money for the time
It took to perpetrate the crime.
poem by Sir Walter Raleigh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem To A Poets!
the poet see crooked
and talk weird too
like a drunk
perdition in his insane!
No one can understand a Poet
Just you and me, like poet we are
The poet say 'Dr. Jivago'?
It means like a movie? No
it means my love for you! ! !
Or he asks yourself, Am I Evil?
No, he does not evil
I am in silence, affirm the poet! ! !
In silence never he will be
BONG, kick the can! ! !
WAR
AAA
RAW
in silence he is!
Trapped in a tower
a terrible place
just for one second to rest
like almost all of us
He said' I gone'
but gone like no one
gone with strenght
strange and revolutionary Poet!
No one can understand a Poet
Just you and me, like poet we are! ! !
poem by Mirna Morgan
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Unicorn 3
What was known, was known. They asked
the artist who had sat all that bright morning, cool upon the hill,
to draw the trees in front of him, as sunlight crept
among the leaves, now here, now there,
lighting, upon the moss, the dewdrops one by one
sun-sipped; when the unicorn was, in a moment, there;
there, detached, yet offered; they asked the artist how it was.
He said that as the sun moved round and caught the leaves,
a love arose; so that when that creature was, so quietly, there,
it was no different from the love.
At first it stood quite still,
as if it knew what made it easier for him;
then later, walked around, sometimes its head raised so that the
sunlight caught its horn; moved, so that the artist then might know
what moved it. It was love.
Some asked eagerly: was it then as if the creature
drew itself? The artist could not answer. That was not untrue; and yet,
it was not quite like that. Rather, what was known, was known.
Known gently; meekly; sweetly. It seems
there is no other way for love.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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I see little of more importance to the future of our country and of civilization than full recognition of the place of the artist. If art is to nourish the roots of our culture, society must set the artist free to follow his vision wherever it takes him.
quote by Pauline Kael
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am Not The Poet's Poet But Perhaps The Would- Be- Poet's Would-Be Poet
I AM NOT THE POET’S POET BUT PERHAPS THE WOULD- BE- POETS WOULD – BE –POET
I am not the poet’s poet-
The one poets of name and fame admire-
But perhaps the would- be- poets would be – poet-
Who tries to be a poet
And tries to understand what it means
To love poetry and live by writing it
Even when the world does not recognize me..
.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Before a Poetry Reading
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I'm feeling nervous but I mustn't show it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I hope to heaven that I won't blow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I mustn't reveal that I'm a second-rate poet!
I'm only a rhymer, but they don't know it!
If you've got no talent you'll have to grow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Silent
What is an art
The artist asked
And I could not
Answer and busy
Composing word.
What is a word
Asked the poet
And I could not
Answer and busy
In a picture.
And what is a picture
I could not get answer
Everybody is silent
Including the nature.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Ridiculous
Ridiculous
To tell the artist
What to sketch and what not
Ridiculous
To tell the poet
What to compose what not.
Only dictator can
Go against the artist
Only dictator can
Go against the poet
Dictator is the symbol of
Destroyer and aggressor.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Eye to Eye
A poet with an artist’s eye
can conjure words to set the scene.
Then with the words that he’ll supply
his reader feels as though he’s seen.
The same scene which the poet saw
Draws on his own experience
of things that he has seen before
though it makes little difference.
The message that the poet sent
is perhaps not the one received
The reader senses the intent
and finds the poem well conceived.
The picture which the reader gets
is the scene his own mind sets
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There aren't any embarrassing questions--just embarrassing answers.
quote by Carl Rowen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Letter To A Young Poet
Dear Raman, so you want me to read your poem and state my opinion.
Well, you are fond of words and you are stacking them up in your poem.
That is a good thing; clearly you are a man who reads a lot.
So you want to be a poet, poetry is self indulgent’ it never starts a war
nor finished it. Should a poet write something that resonance with,
the sentiment of a nation, you can be sure it will be used by politicians
and interpreted for their dubious plans.
So why don’t you become an engineer or failing that, a cook. The world
doesn’t need, anymore academic poets who forever repeat what poets
of yore have said. For the people a poet is regarded as a figure of fun
who spends valuable time putting useless words together to make sense
of a world they don’t understand. As my father said when I published
my first poem: “How much did they pay you? ” So if my words have not
scared you off you’re a poet. All you need is intellectual honesty.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Atheism Compliments God
Since God does not exist,
He could not create the world,
Said the atheist.
Then who created it?
The poet asked.
Well, the world just came into being
By itself, she replied.
Well, in that case
This is indeed a great compliment
For God, the poet said.
She gave him a surprised look.
And why is that? She asked.
Imagine that a book, for example,
Could write itself without the author,
Would not be it a fantastic miracle?
Yes, indeed, she agreed.
So, a self-creating universe,
The poet said, would even be
An immeasurably greater
And miraculous accomplishment,
The utmost manifestation
Of the Glory of God.
Therefore, paradoxically, atheism
Unwillingly but compliments God.
poem by Paul Hartal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pretending To See The Future
Avoiding this is like avoiding a plague
We cant understand the advances we made
Weve tried to resist but its so hard to say no
Were pretending to see what the future will hold
We appear to be in control of our fate
Just like soldiers believe theyre in control of a war
But its moving so fast we cannot see what weve done
Were losing our eyes just to say that weve won
My minds made up, my heart is broke
My fortunes is made me and I feel so choked
I cant understand how we could ever believe
The things we asked for but never received
We never understood the times we asked
The way we wasted all that passed
This neglect is final its a stage we must
Endure to ever hope to see the first
My minds made up about the things we did
We never saw we believed we couldnt say what we missed
My minds made up, my heart is broke
My fortunes is made me and I feel so choked
I cant understand how we could ever believe
The things we asked for but never received
By making noises which we cannot control
The things we hoped that wed never forgo
We appear to be in control of our fate
Just like soldiers believe theyre in control of a war
But its moving so fast we cannot see what weve done
Were losing our eyes just to say that weve won
My minds made up, my heart is broke
My fortunes is made me and I feel so choked
I cant understand how we could ever believe
The things we asked for but never received
song performed by by Omd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ch 01 Manner of Kings Story 31
The veziers of Nushirvan happened to discuss an important affair of state, each giving his opinion according to his knowledge. The king likewise gave his opinion and Barzachumihr concurred with it. Afterwards the veziers secretly asked him: "What superiority hast thou discovered in the opinion of the king above so many other reflections of wise men?" The philosopher replied: "Since the termination of the affair is unknown and it depends upon the will of God whether the opinion of the others will turn out right or wrong, it was better to agree with the opinion of the king so that, if it should turn out to have been wrong, we may, on account of having followed it, remain free from blame."
To proffer an opinion contrary to the king’s
Means to wash the hands in one’s own blood.
Should he in plain day say it is night,
It is meet to shout: "Lo, the moon and the pleiads!"
I Am A Virtual Poet In Virtual Hiding
I AM A VIRTUAL POET IN VIRTUAL HIDING
I am a virtual poet in virtual hiding
I do not want to be seen
Or known
I want to write my lines
And be worshipped from a distance
As if my person and my name
Had no real connection.
Praises and more praises are fine
Critical evaluations which admire – excellent
If non- existent and potentially embarrassing-
But please don’t come too near
With what you say-
I fear if you hear me
You will steal my essence-
And know this truth -
‘I am a virtual poet
In need of, fear of
An acclaim-
I don’t really believe I deserve.’
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Letter To A Young Poet Revised
Letter to a young Poet
Dear Raman, so you want me to read your poem and state my opinion.
Well, you are fond of words and you are stacking them up in your poem.
That is a good thing; clearly you are a man who reads a lot.
So you want to be a poet, poetry is self indulgent pass time it doesn’t
change anything, no one reads it, other than cranky people. Should
a poet writes something nationalistic that resonance with, a nation’s
pride, like: “my country is the best in the world.” He will get a medal.
So why don’t you become an engineer or failing that, a cook. The world
doesn’t need, anymore academic poets who forever repeat what poets
of yore have said. For the common man a poet is regarded as a figure of
fun who spends valuable time putting useless words together to make
sense of a world he doesn’t understand. As my father said, when my first
poem was published: “How much did they pay you? ” If my words have
not scared you off, you’re a poet. The only tool you’ll need is honesty.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Try to Understand Me Too (Autism)
Today might not be my day,
You might understand what I want to say.
There are times that I want to wave my hand,
And you might think it is something that I am trying to demand.
Can you hear the soun
ds as I pound my feet,
Well maybe not, but all I am doing is trying to sound a beat.
Do you remember when I read the book with you?
It was about the ghost and you made me laugh when you said BOO.
I love to hear it when we whisper and shout Lullabies, songs and rhymes,
To me I wonder, if they can hear us while we do this during school time.
This is one reason why I always say things over and over again,
And when you try to stop me, I get mad every now and then.
I only wish I can understand everything that I'm being told,
But to me it feels like I am always being controlled.
Can you remember when you asked the class a question and I wanted to answer it when was not my turn,
All I am just trying to do is show you that I can remember things that I learn.
I try to understand why I get so mad and I cannot control myself and I hurt you,
When I think about it I get sad and cry because I wish someone could, Try to Understand Me Too.
I wish the other kids would let me play,
If they took the time to talk to me, they might understand things my way,
I also love it when you want to teach me how to pray,
And you ask the Lord to help thru this day,
I know that you understand me and even, if no one ever wants to even take a guess,
So, this is my ways of saying thank you and telling you that I will always try and do my best.
poem by Frank Pulver
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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