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Quote by Bob Hicok

“My Jewish problem is figuring out why America in 2016 has a dab of 1930s German Fascism to it-- people at political rallies yelling crap about the Jews.”

Quote by Bob Hicok

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Bob Hicok
Bob Hicok

Bob Hicok is an American poet known for his unique style and profound emotional expression. His work often explores themes of daily life, natural landscapes, and the human condition. more

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“We'll battle for trivial, senseless things, Scattering roses in the realm of imagination, While reality blankets the earth with burdens, Walls fade to a pallid hue, And the air becomes stifled. You'll sense that everything stands opposed, Opportunities arrive, if at all, belatedly. If they come, This misery is sure to cling to us. In my path, stumbles stretch, And behind me, an unvanishing past Continues to torment me. Beyond my limits, all roads are paved, Are you foolish enough To accompany me on this journey through hell, Without promises? Life has taught me its obstinance, Stubborn with me, If I dream. So, will you accept?”

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“Once, an elderly general practitioner consulted me because of his severe depression. He could not overcome the loss of his wife who had died two years before and whom he had loved above all else. Now, how can I help him? What should I tell him? Well, I refrained from telling him anything but instead confronted him with the question, “What would have happened, Doctor, if you had died first, and your wife would have had to survive you?” “Oh,” he said, “for her this would have been terrible; how she would have suffered!” Whereupon I replied, “You see, Doctor, such a suffering has been spared her, and it was you who have spared her this suffering — to be sure, at the price that now you have to survive and mourn her.” He said no word but shook my hand and calmly left my office. In some way, suffering ceases to be suffering at the moment it finds a meaning, such as the meaning of a sacrifice.”

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Book:Man's Search for Meaning
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“Write one more stanza—now. Set the page ablaze with the anger in the hollow ache of our bones— anger for the new hate, same as the old kind of hate for the wrong skin color, for the accent in a voice, for the love of those we’re not supposed to love. Anger for the voice of politics armed with lies, fear that holds democracy at gunpoint.”

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“How I still want to sing despite all the truth of our wars and our gunshots ringing louder than our school bells, our politicians smiling lies at the mic, the deadlock of our divided voices shouting over each other instead of singing together. How I want to sing again-- beautiful or not, just to be harmony--from sea to shining sea--with the only country I know enough to know how to sing for.”

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Book:How to Love a Country
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