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All the sea-gods are dead. You, Venus, come home To your salt maidenhead.

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
Gods
Sea
Dead
Home
Come
Venus
Salt

More quotes by Allen Tate

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Men cannot live forever But they must die forever.
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Experience means conflict, our natures being what they are, and conflict means drama.
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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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My darling boy whom I shall never know, My son, I love you in my deepest fears.
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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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Struck in the wet mire Four thousand leagues from the ninth buried city I thought of Troy, what we had built her for.
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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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POET If not in a place, where are the People weeping? LIBERAL They creep weeping in the face, not place. POET Is it something with which we may cope The weeping, the creeping, the peepee-ing, the peeping?
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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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Antiquity breached mortality with myths. Narcissus is vocabulary. Hermes decorates A cornice on the Third National Bank.
Allen Tate
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The innocent mansion of a panther's heart!
Allen Tate
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Men expect too much, do too little, Put the contraption before the accomplishment, Lack skill of the interior mind To fashion dignity with shapes of air. Luxury, yes but not elegance!
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Yevgeny Yevtushenko is a ham actor, not a poet.
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Now remember courage, go to the door,Open it and see whether coiled on the bedOr cringing by the wall, a savage beastMaybe with golden hair, with deep eyesLike a bearded spider on a sunlit floorWill snarl-and man can never be alone.
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For often at Church I've seen the stained high glass Pour out the Virgin and Saints, twist and untwist The mortal youth of Christ astride an ass.
Allen Tate
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Death's long anabasis.
Allen Tate
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The Spring I seek is in a new face only.
Allen Tate
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Poets, in their way, are practical men they are interested in results.
Allen Tate
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Men expect too much, do too little.
Allen Tate
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I say that what one loves is best: The midnight fastness of the heart.
Allen Tate