Every good poet includes a critic; the reverse will not hold.
quote by William Shenstone
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Every good poet includes a critic, but the reverse is not true.
quote by William Shenstone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poet Fears Failure
The poet fears failure
& so she says
"Hold on pen--
what if the critics
hate me?"
& with that question
she blots out more lines
than any critic could.
The critic is only doing his job:
keeping the poet lonely.
He barks
like a dog at the door
when the master comes home.
It's in his doggy nature.
If he didn't know the poet
for the boss,
he wouldn't bark so loud.
& the poet?
It's in her nature
to fear failure
but not to let that fear
blot out
her lines.
poem by Erica Jong
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Poets and critics
The poet is a child, emotion ridden.
The critic is a teacher, a check dam.
The poet bursts to cry or weep.
The critic stands there with a whip.
23.09.2000, Palasa
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A Coincidence
Every critic in the town
Runs the minor poet down;
Every critic--don't you know it?
Is himself a minor poet.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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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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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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Reverse the Sands of Time
If I could reverse the sands of time I wouldn't change anything
If I reverse the hands of time I wouldn't know what my heartbreak bring
Time is the reason why I know how much you mean to me
Time is the reason why my eyes are open wide so now I can see
I wouldn't change time I would learn & embrace what's forthcoming
Time make me evolve it make me grow It keep me always running
Sometime it's forms into the wind & hit me in every direction
Time is a force it's like a hurricane it's a volcano eruption
To reverse the sands of time I wouldn't know the joys of life
The time we share to see our kids grow hold you tight my wife
See the sun rise hold each and wait for its set
To be there sharing the grandchildren we haven't had yet
Regret my life? Would I reverse the sands of time?
Never because those time we share will always be mind
poem by LoKis White
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The Wicket Cricket Critic
If the cricket critics' nagging
Merits stern official gagging
Which I doubt
How would critical ascetics,
With their prosy homiletics,
Shut it out?
And the question then arises:
If more cricketing surprises,
Such as bodyline, begin to threaten cricket,
And another stunt, when sprung,
Call for clicking of the tongue,
Should a cricket critic critically click it?
When the barrackers grow lyric
In a manner most satiric
And profane,
How, one ventures still to wonder,
May the clamor be kept under?
How restrain?
For one barbaric larrik-
In can do a lot of barrack-
In', and cause a lot of worry at the wicket.
But would sportsmen be abusing
Cricket canons in refusing
To supply that cricket critic with a ticket?
As a critic analytic
Of the cricket critics' critic
I would say,
When we criticise their cricket,
Then the players have to stick it,
Come what may.
No specific soporific
May be used; for it is diffic-
Ult to strike a critic partly paralytic.
So there's nothing gained in seeking,
As I know; and I am speaking
As a critic of the cricket critic's critic.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Similarly, thought is a system. That system not only includes thought and feelings, but it includes the state of the body; it includes the whole of society - as thought is passing back and forth between people in a process by which thought evolved from ancient times.
quote by David Bohm
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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King Midas In Reverse
The Hollies
King Midas In Reverse
(Allan Clarke/Tony Hicks/but mainly Graham Nash)
Single release 1967
If you could only see me
I know exactly where I am
You wouldn't want to be me
Oh, I can assure you of that
I'm not the guy to run with
'Cos I'll throw you off the line
I'll break you and destroy you
Given time.
He's King Midas with a curse
He's King Midas in reverse
He's King Midas with a curse
He's King Midas in reverse
It's plain to see it's hopeless
Going on the way we are
So even though I'd lose you
You'd be better off by far
He's not the man to hold your trust
Everything he touches turns to dust
In his hands
Nothing he can do is right
He'd even like to sleep at night
But he can't.
{Interlude with 'all he touches turns to dust' 4x}
I wish someone would find me
And help me gain control
Before I lose my reason
And my soul
He's King Midas with a curse
He's King Midas in reverse
He's King Midas with a curse (all he touches turns to dust)
He's King Midas in reverse (all he touches turns to dust)
{fade out}
He's King Midas with a curse (all he touches turns to dust)
He's King Midas in reverse (all he touches turns to dust)
He's King Midas with a curse....
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Too much is demanded by the critic, attempted by the poet.
quote by John C. Ransom
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Greatest Questions
Little boy;
What does thy know about destiny?
The poet;
I know but little about destiny
Little boy;
If ye tells me I know I will live life peacefully
The poet;
Destiny is like a wind which blows in the arabian sea,
Upon which it next direction is unknown,
You will see men growing greatly at their tender age but their next minute is unpredictable
Then, reverse it could be my former line
Little boy;
You mean destiny is like a deep wide sea
Which the direction you follow leads you any where
The poet;
Hey!
Brother we began our lives here
Tomorrow you may be richer than I
The creator has already created us before we exist
Little boy;
Then I will go to a sorcerer to foresee my destiny
The poet;
Destiny can never be look into
Even those who are summon
By the name foreseers
Do not know when termite will eat them
Little boy;
Can destiny be ever change?
The poet;
It can be change only with prayer
But my lord only give those he will
Little boy;
When shall we die?
The poet;
And so I laugh...
Death is inevitable
Non but my lord and those who had gone
Can talk about it
Little boy;
I mean
How will I die?
The poet;
For you know not where and how you were born
The the knowledge of
Where and how you will die remains with Allah
He creates the world and know every hidden things.
Little boy;
How can I live this world
The poet;
Boy!
Walk as if non is looking at you
Talk as if non is listening to you
Think as if you are thinking for others
Pray and make sacrifice
Sonnet: Misjudge Him Not, O Critic
Go to hell, ye critic who tries in vain,
A poet’s love-affair to unravel;
His sensuous sex details- to pry insane;
From his own poems composed, a marvel.
Remember thou, the poet’s a Creator!
And with time, turns a literary Wizard;
In the art of painting words, a Master;
Who can write even about a lizard!
Oh, denigrate not, man of such greatness,
With silly conjectures, thine assumptions;
Mar not his name with acts of carelessness,
Belittling his work beyond redemption.
Oh, let the man in each poet remain!
And judge his art for art’s sake, sans disdain.
poem by John Celes
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The Poet And The Bird
Said a people to a poet---' Go out from among us straightway!
While we are thinking earthly things, thou singest of divine.
There's a little fair brown nightingale, who, sitting in the gateways
Makes fitter music to our ears than any song of thine!'
The poet went out weeping---the nightingale ceased chanting;
'Now, wherefore, O thou nightingale, is all thy sweetness done?'
I cannot sing my earthly things, the heavenly poet wanting,
Whose highest harmony includes the lowest under sun.'
The poet went out weeping,---and died abroad, bereft there---
The bird flew to his grave and died, amid a thousand wails:---
And, when I last came by the place, I swear the music left there
Was only of the poet's song, and not the nightingale's.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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You do not become a critic until it has been completely established to your own satisfaction that you cannot be a poet.
quote by Theophile Gautier
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I May Not Have Been A Great Poet
I MAY NOT HAVE BEEN A GREAT POET
I may not have been a great poet
Or even a good poet
Or even the poet I wanted to be.
But I am the poet I could be
The poet I am.
And may God have mercy on my soul,
And on all those I love.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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This Poet Is Always Beside You
You are reading my poem but,
This poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.
I am on your lips and,
I am in your mouth;
I am in your heart and,
I am in your mind;
Because, this poet is always beisde you.
This poet writes and others read,
This poet speaks and others listen,
And this poet is always beside you;
But, this poet is never known.
The works of this poet are on the internet,
And, they are being read by many! !
But, this poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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I never met anybody in my life who says, I want to be a critic. People want to be a fireman, poet, novelist.
quote by Leslie Fiedler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The New Poet In Town
the new poet in town laughs
at his finding
that when he write
his poems
his only purpose
is that the poem
must not be understood
by anybody
because it is only
through this way
that they will say
the new poet in town
is deep
with his sorrow
and panicky with his
pain and
lamentable with his
foment
the critique
scratches his head and
proclaims
the glory of the new poet in town
saying
'this is the best poem i have read'
(because he does not understand what it means
though sounding like a hollow pipe that you sling with a stone
saying ' ping, xing, tsing, ting, tang tong, oinnk., , toinkk'
'excellent' the last critic with a tainted glass declares.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poet is free
Poet is free
No grammarian can guide the poet
Do not tell before a poet you are dare
And I know there are so many grammarians
With so many grammars
The poet is one with truth with love
All the grammars old middle modern
Are of no use for a poet
At the time of poet's thought
Poet's love poet's poetry
Nobody can search research poet's history
Nobody can dare to described poet
Poet can create his own language
His own grammar and it does not bother the poet
Whether you like it or not
Leave the poet on his own way
It is better you to read him love him
If you are alive.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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