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Poets Quotes

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Poets Quotes

“কবি যদি লোভী হয়, তাহলে সে কবি নয়, তা হলে সে পথের কাঙাল। কখনও সবুজ পরে, কখনও গেরুয়া ধরে, কখনও-বা টকটকে লাল। কবি যদি লোভী হয়, তা হলে সে কবি নয়, তা হলে সে ব'সে ফুটপাথে বলুক, 'সোনা কি তাঁবা যা-ই হোক দাও বাবা দাও এই কাঙালের হাতে '।”

TruthPoetryPoetsBengaliBangla
Book:নীরেন্দ্রনাথ চক্রবর্তীর শ্রেষ্ঠ কবিতা
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“সুকুমার রায়কে 'হাসির কবিতা'র গণ্ডির মধ্যে ধরে রাখা যায় না। 'আবোল তাবোল', আমার প্রথম থেকেই মনে হয়েছে, বাংলা ভাষার রীতিমতো একটি কাব্যগ্রন্থ, যাতে হাসির ছুতো করে, ছবি ও কৌতুকের সাহায্যে ভুলিয়ে এনে, শিশুদের এবং বয়স্কদেরও কয়েক ফোঁটা বিশুদ্ধ কাব্যরস অন্তঃস্থ করে দেওয়া হলো। 'মেঘ-মুলুকে ঝাপসা রাতে রামধনুকের আবছায়াতে' বসে 'আলোয় ঢাকা অন্ধকারে'র গন্ধে ঘন্টাধ্বনি শুনতে পাবেন কি কবি ছাড়া অন্য কেউ? না কি অন্য কেউ 'পান্তভূতের জ্যান্ত ছানা'কে 'জোছনা হাওয়ার স্বপ্ন-ঘোড়া'য় চড়িয়ে দেবেন? তাঁকে কবি বলে না-মানতে হলে "কবি" কথাটায় অন্যায়ভাবে সীমানা টানতে হয়। ("বাংলা শিশুসাহিত্য" প্রবন্ধ থেকে)”

PoetryPoetsBengaliBanglaLiterary TheoryJuvenile FictionNonsense Poetry
Book:সাহিত্যচর্চা
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“That evening there were police outside the building in which I spoke, and in the air the rising tension of race that is peculiar to the South. It had been rumored that some of the local citizenry were saying that I should be run out of town, and that one of the sheriffs agreed, saying, "Sure, he ought to be run out! It's bad enough to call Christ a bastard. But when he calls him a nigger, he's gone too far!"... ...Nevertheless, I remember with pleasure the courtesy and kindness of many of the students and faculty at Chapel Hill and their lack of agreement with the anti-Negro elements of the town. There I began to learn at the University of North Carolina how hard it is to be a white liberal in the South.”

PoetryRacismSouthPoetsAfrican AmericansBlacksRace RelationsWhitesLiberals
Book:Good Morning, Revolution: Uncollected Social Protest Writings
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“I suppose like others I have come through fire and sword, love gone wrong, head-on crashes, drunk at sea, and I have listened to the simple sound of water running in tubs and wished to drown but simply couldn't bear the others carrying my body down three flights of stairs to the round mouths of curious biddies... the world has been darker than lights out in a closet full of hungry bats, and the whiskey and wine entered our veins when blood was too weak to carry on; and it will happen to others...”

PoetsBukowski
Book:The Pleasures of the Damned
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“The night like ink it stains the surfaces it spilt across the words as though some poet bearing veins of indigo they asked you once by day to bind before the night like ink dissolved within them and the words returning to their wordless state become the beats that take all paths leading from the heart returning to it the night dissolved like ink in the veins of any poet”

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Book:Mystical Tides
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“To be a poet, I realized, a true poet, was to become the Avatar of humanity incarnate; to accept the mantle of poet is to carry the cross of the Son of Man, to suffer the birth pangs of the Soul-Mother of Humanity. To be a true poet is to become God. I tried to explain this to my friends on Heaven’s Gate. ‘Piss, shit,’ I said. ‘Asshole motherfucker, goddamn shit goddamn. Cunt. Peepee cunt. Goddamn!’ They shook their heads and smiled, and walked away. Great poets are rarely understood in their own day.”

Poets
Book:Hyperion
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“It is this capacity to embody (incarnate) protest that gives the poet the advantage over others who decry the times in editorials, letters, placards, the brightest satirical prose. The poet and his poems put us in the peace march, at the hanging tree, inside the skin and bones of the hungry, before the awesome tyranny of the powers and principalities, and under the mushroom burst of the Bomb.”

PoetryPoemsProtestPoetsImmersion
Book:Poems of Protest Old and New
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“The poet must rethink her writing activities in such a way as to désoublier (to unforget), détaire (to unsilence), déterrer (to unbury), se désaveugler (to unbind), se dessourdier (to undeafen), in an endeavor to displace all that has been repressed, incorporated, appropriated. This is the poet’s way of fighting.”

WritingPoetryFightingFreedomPoetsDisplacementReclamation
Book:Hélène Cixous: Writing the Feminine
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“A, B, C, D in some TIME By: Aron Micko H.B Alarming bomb during wartime. Arguing voices during nighttime. Asking forgiveness in a short time. Avoiding conflicts until the end of time. Bleeding normal people, not in crime. Balancing one world in just one time. Bombing violently during downtime. Beginning destruction in our mealtime. Calming that there is peacetime. Calling for humility to show time. Calculating the peace over time. Collecting for nothing is a part-time. Dreaming of using gadgets every time. Developing our sadness in daytime. Dropping our problems for longtime. Dying obligations in real lifetime. 3/7/22”

InspirationalLiteraturePoemPoetsPoems On LifePoem QuotesContest Quotes
Author:Aron Micko H.B
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“But what was lacking, what was different, I asked myself, listening to the talk? And to answer that question I had to think myself out of the room, back into the past, before the war indeed, and to set before my eyes the model of another luncheon party held in rooms not very far distant from these; but different. Everything was different. Meanwhile the talk went on among the guests, who were many and young, some of this sex, some of that; it went on swimmingly, it went on agreeably, freely, amusingly. And as it went on I set it against the background of that other talk, and as I matched the two together I had no doubt that one was the descendant, the legitimate heir of the other. Nothing was changed; nothing was different save only - here I listened with all my ears not entirely to what was being said, but to the murmur or current behind it. Yes - that was it - the change was there. Before the war at a luncheon party like this people would have said precisely the same things but they would have sounded different, because in those days they were accompanied by a sort of humming noise, not articulate, but musical, exciting, which changed the value of the words themselves. Could one set that humming noise to words? Perhaps with the help of the poets one could. ... The very reason why the poetry excites one to such abandonment, such rapture, is that it celebrates some feeling that one used to have (at luncheon parties before the war perhaps), so that one responds easily, familiarly, without having to check the feeling, or to compare it with any that one has now.”

PoetryPoetsPre War Society
Book:A Room of One’s Own
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“The Poets O ye dead Poets, who are living still Immortal in your verse, though life be fled, And ye, O living Poets, who are dead Though ye are living, if neglect can kill, Tell me if in the darkest hours of ill, With drops of anguish falling fast and red From the sharp crown of thorns upon your head, Ye were not glad your errand to fulfil? Yes; for the gift and ministry of Song Have something in them so divinely sweet, It can assuage the bitterness of wrong; Not in the clamor of the crowded street, Not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, But in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.”

ImmortalityLife And DeathPoetsPoets And PoetryPoets On Poetry
Book:Keramos and Other Poems
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“لا تستغربوا إنْ رأيتموهم واقفين لمدة طويلة وكأنهم يقومون بحساباتٍ ما. لا، ليسوا كذلك، فهم أبسط من أن يقدروا على عمليّة حسابيّة بسيطة. تلك الوقفات هي بالضبط اللحظات التي يبدؤون فيها بخلق القصائد في أذهانهم. إنّها عمليةٌ باهرة”

InspirationPoetsالإلهامالشاعرالشعراء
Book:Vamos Comprar um Poeta
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