Quote

Peering, I heard the hooves come down the hill. The posse passed, twelve horse the leader's face Was worn as limestone on an ancient sill.

Allen Tate

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Allen Tate
Age: 79 †
Born: 1899
Born: November 19
Died: 1979
Died: February 9
Author
Literary Critic
Poet
University Teacher
Writer
Winchester
Kentucky
John Orley Allen Tate
Leader
Posse
Heard
Hill
Face
Worn
Faces
Twelve
Come
Hills
Sill
Passed
Hooves
Ancient
Limestone
Horse
Peering

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In an age of abstract experience, fornication Is self-expression, adjunct to Christian euphoria, And whores become delinquents delinquents, patients Patients, wards of society. Whores, by that rule, Are precious.
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In a manner of speaking, the poem is its own knower, neither poet nor reader knowing anything that the poem says apart from the words of the poem.
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So face with calm that heritage And earn contempt before the age.
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Row after row with strict impunity The headstones yield their names to the element, The wind whirrs without recollection.
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What is the flesh and blood compounded ofBut a few moments in the life of time?This prowling of the cells, litigious love,Wears the long claw of flesh-arguing crime.
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In the cold morning the rested street stands up To greet the clerk who saunters down the world.
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Let us begin to understand the argument. There is a solution to everything: Science.
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Men cannot live forever But they must die forever.
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Walk in this faithless grass with studious tread, Lest mice, weasels, germane beasts, too soon The tall hat and eyes, the fierce feet, for dead Descry, and fix you prone in their revelling moon.
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At twelve I was determined to shoot only For honor at twenty not to shoot at all I know at thirty-three that one must shoot As often as one gets the rare chance - In killing there is more than commentary.
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I had kept opaque Down deeper than the canyons undersea The sullen spectrum of a buried lake Nobody saw not seen even by me.
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Therefore with idle hands and head I sit In late December before the fire's daze Punished by crimes of which I would be quit.
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And I have seen long fingers that would stare With fiery eyes, and then the eyes would crawl Deftly across the counterpane and fall Soundless, with a wink of mild despair.
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Serious poetry deals with the fundamental conflicts that cannot be logically resolved: we can state the conflicts rationally, but reason does not relieve us of them.
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I have felt darkness lead me by the hand Over the hill to greet the singing dawn.
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But we shall not know the world by looking at it we know it by looking at the hovering fly.
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