Quote

William Blake cursed the flesh for a clod, Yet of some of his sayings we Moderns have heard tell: 'The nakedness of woman is the work of God', Or that title--The Marriage of Heaven and Hell.

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
Woman
William
Tell
Title
Work
Titles
Clod
Flesh
Moderns
Marriage
Sayings
Hell
Nakedness
Heard
Blake
Heaven
Cursed

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Yevgeny Yevtushenko is a ham actor, not a poet.
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Death's long anabasis.
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The only real evidence that any critic may bring before his gaze is the finished poem.
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I say that what one loves is best: The midnight fastness of the heart.
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I believe the term modulation denotes in music the uninterrupted shift from one key to another: I do not know the term for change of rhythm without change of measure.
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Genetic theories, I gather, have been cherished academically with detachment.
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What was I saying? An Egyptian king Once touched long fingers, which are not anything.
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Men cannot live forever But they must die forever.
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There is probably nothing wrong with art for art's sake if we take the phrase seriously, and not take it to mean the kind of poetry written in England forty years ago.
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Our loss put six feet under ground Is measured by the magnolia's root Our gain's the intellectual sound Of death's feet round a weedy tomb.
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Antiquity breached mortality with myths. Narcissus is vocabulary. Hermes decorates A cornice on the Third National Bank.
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But in our age the appeal to authority is weak, and I am of my age.
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The idiot greens the meadow with his eyes, The meadow creeps implacable and still A dog barks, the hammock swings, he lies. One two three the cows bulge on the hill.
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Poets, in their way, are practical men they are interested in results.
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A poem may be an instance of morality, of social conditions, of psychological history it may instance all its qualities, but never one of them alone, nor any two or three never less than all.
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Let us begin to understand the argument. There is a solution to everything: Science.
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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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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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Men expect too much, do too little.
Allen Tate