Escritas

Poems List

Life itself is a quotation.

Life itself is a quotation.
👁️ 409

Nothing is built on stone

Nothing is built on stone all is built on sand, but we must build as if the sand were stone.
👁️ 552

To fall in love is

To fall in love is to create a religion that has a fallible god.
👁️ 485

I have always imagined that

I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library.
👁️ 381

Don't talk unless you can

Don't talk unless you can improve the silence.
👁️ 450

Any life, no matter how

Any life, no matter how long and complex it may be, is made up of a single moment - the moment in which a man finds out, once and for all, who he is.
👁️ 468

To die for a religion

To die for a religion is easier than to live it absolutely.
👁️ 422

My father and he had

My father and he had one of those English friendships which begin by avoiding intimacies and eventually eliminate speech altogether.
👁️ 437

To a Cat

To a Cat
Mirrors are not more silent
nor the creeping dawn more secretive;
in the moonlight, you are that panther
we catch sight of from afar.
By the inexplicable workings of a divine law,
we look for you in vain;
More remote, even, than the Ganges or the setting sun,
yours is the solitude, yours the secret.
Your haunch allows the lingering
caress of my hand. You have accepted,
since that long forgotten past,
the love of the distrustful hand.
You belong to another time. You are lord
of a place bounded like a dream.
👁️ 625

The Art of Poetry

The Art of Poetry
To gaze at a river made of time and water
And remember Time is another river.
To know we stray like a river
and our faces vanish like water.
To feel that waking is another dream
that dreams of not dreaming and that the death
we fear in our bones is the death
that every night we call a dream.
To see in every day and year a symbol
of all the days of man and his years,
and convert the outrage of the years
into a music, a sound, and a symbol.
To see in death a dream, in the sunset
a golden sadness--such is poetry,
humble and immortal, poetry,
returning, like dawn and the sunset.
Sometimes at evening there's a face
that sees us from the deeps of a mirror.
Art must be that sort of mirror,
disclosing to each of us his face.
They say Ulysses, wearied of wonders,
wept with love on seeing Ithaca,
humble and green. Art is that Ithaca,
a green eternity, not wonders.
Art is endless like a river flowing,
passing, yet remaining, a mirror to the same
inconstant Heraclitus, who is the same
and yet another, like the river flowing.
👁️ 767

Comments (0)

ShareOn Facebook X Instagram
Log in to post a comment.

NoComments