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Tag: poetry, reality

Czesław Miłosz

Reality calls for a name, for words, but it is unbearable, and if it is touched, if it draws very close, the poet’s mouth cannot even utter a complaint of Job: all art proves to be nothing compared with action. Yet to embrace reality in such a manner that it is preserved in all its old tangle of good and evil, of despair and hope, is possible only thanks to distance, only by soaring above it–but this in turn seems then a moral treason.

poetry, reality

Robert M. Drake

There is nothing out here…it is all inside;it is all in my head.The things that happen do not existunless I give them meaning.To be able to define everythingis where my greatest weakness lies.To be able to feelis the madness I need to make senseof the things that strike me.People strike me,love strikes meand everything else moves mein such a waythat I could barely understand.I feel,and everything I feel is nothing;nothing but an extensionof the mindandof the heart I was born with.

poetry, reality

Czesław Miłosz

Reality calls for a name, for words, but it is unbearable, and if it is touched, if it draws very close, the poet’s mouth cannot even utter a complaint of Job: all art proves to be nothing compared with action. Yet to embrace reality in such a manner that it is preserved in all its old tangle of good and evil, of despair and hope, is possible only thanks to distance, only by soaring above it–but this in turn seems then a moral treason.

poetry, reality

Robert M. Drake

There is nothing out here…it is all inside;it is all in my head.The things that happen do not existunless I give them meaning.To be able to define everythingis where my greatest weakness lies.To be able to feelis the madness I need to make senseof the things that strike me.People strike me,love strikes meand everything else moves mein such a waythat I could barely understand.I feel,and everything I feel is nothing;nothing but an extensionof the mindandof the heart I was born with.

poetry, reality