Quote

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.

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
Long
Staring
Soundless
Would
Fingers
Deftly
Despair
Wink
Across
Crawl
Seen
Mild
Eyes
Fiery
Eye
Stare
Fall
Twilight

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The mission for the day is to encourage students to think beyond traditional career opportunities, prepare for future careers and entrance into the workplace.
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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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Men cannot live forever But they must die forever.
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Culture is the study of perfection, and the constant effort to achieve it.
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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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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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Row after row with strict impunity The headstones yield their names to the element, The wind whirrs without recollection.
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The innocent mansion of a panther's heart!
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Dark accurate plunger down the successive knell Of arch on arch, where ogives burst a red Reverberance of hail upon the dead Thunder like an exploding crucible!
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Among friends one has the privilege of saying nothing the civility consists in the assumption that one's silence will be civilly understood. I can imagine a small gathering of friends who say nothing all evening: they recoil from saying anything that the others don't want to hear and their silence would be the subtlest courtesy.
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Poets, in their way, are practical men they are interested in results.
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All the sea-gods are dead. You, Venus, come home To your salt maidenhead.
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The poet is he who fights on the passionate Side and whoever loses he wins when he Is defeated it is hard to say who wins.
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But in our age the appeal to authority is weak, and I am of my age.
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Death's long anabasis.
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Poets are mysterious, but a poet when all is said is not much more mysterious than a banker.
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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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