Wadsworth MoorWhere the millstone of sky Grinds light and shadow so purple-fine And has ground it so long Grinding the skin off the earth Earth bleeds her raw true darkness A land naked now as a wound That the sun swabs and dabs Where the miles of agony are numbness And harebell and heather a euphoria Ted Hughes
I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests.
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Pablo Neruda
It is strange how a scrap of poetry works in the mind and makes the legs move in time to it along the road.
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Virginia Woolf
Sweetest smile is made saddest tear-drop!
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Edwin Arnold
The true poem rests between the words.
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Vanna Bonta
Sometimes he did not know if he slept or just thought about sleep.
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Mark Strand
More Quotes By Ted Hughes
The only calibration that counts is how much heart people invest, how much they ignore their fears of being hurt or caught out or humiliated. And the only thing people regret is that they didn't live boldly enough, that they didn't invest enough heart, didn't...
He could not stand. It was not That he could not thrive, he was born With everything but the will —That can be deformed, just like a limb. Death was more interesting to him. Life could not get his attention.
Nobody wanted your dance, Nobody wanted your strange glitter, your floundering Drowning life and your effort to save yourself, Treading water, dancing the dark turmoil, Looking for something to give.
The inmost spirit of poetry, in other words, is at bottom, in every recorded case, the voice of pain — and the physical body, so to speak, of poetry, is the treatment by which the poet tries to reconcile that pain with the world.
I think it was Milosz, the Polish poet, who when he lay in a doorway and watched the bullets lifting the cobbles out of the street beside him realised that most poetry is not equipped for life in a world where people actually die. But...
