You don't have to suffer to be a poet. Adolescence is enough suffering for anyone
John CiardiTo read a poem with no thought in mind but to paraphrase it into a single, simple and usually high-minded prose statement is the destruction of poetry.
John CiardiThe Constitution gives every American the inalienable right to make a damn fool of himself.
John CiardiStichwörter: constitution
He had his choice, and he liked the worst.
John CiardiStichwörter: choice taste choosing bad-taste poor-taste
And the time sundials tell
May be minutes and hours. But it may just as well
Be seconds and sparkles, or seasons and flowers.
No, I don't think of time as just minutes and hours.
Time can be heartbeats, or bird songs, or miles,
Or waves on a beach, or ants in their files
(They do move like seconds—just watch their feet go:
Tick-tick-tick, like a clock). You'll learn as you grow
That whatever there is in a garden, the sun
Counts up on its dial. By the time it is done
Our sundial—or someone's— will certainly add
All the good things there are. Yes, and all of the bad.
And if anyone's here for the finish, the sun
Will have told him—by sundial—how well we have done.
How well we have done, or how badly. Alas,
That is a long thought. Let me hope we all pass.
Stichwörter: time sundial sundials
The day will happen whether or not you get up.
John CiardiThe fact that a good poem will never wholly submit to explanation is not its deficiency but its very life. One lives every day what he cannot define. It is feeling that is first. What one cannot help but sense in good poetry is a sense of the whole language stirring toward richer possibilities than one could have foreseen.
John CiardiThere was a young lady from Gloucester
Who complained that her parents both bossed her,
So she ran off to Maine.
Did her parents complain?
Not at all -- they were glad to have lost her.
Stichwörter: new-england massachusetts maine gloucester
I have one head that wants to be good,
And one that wants to be bad.
And always, as soon as I get up,
One of my heads is sad.
Stichwörter: good bad good-and-evil
I once knew a word I forget
That mean "I am sorry we met
And I wish you the same."
It sounds like your name
But I haven't remember that yet.
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