Quote

The stone is a mirror which works poorly. Nothing in it but dimness. Your dimness or its dimness, who's to say? In the hush your heart sounds like a black cricket.

Charles Simic

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Charles Simic
Age: 86
Born: 1938
Born: May 9
Anglicist
Essayist
Journalist
Poet
Translator
University Teacher
Writer
Belgrade
Serbia
Dušan Simić
Čarls Simić
Sound
Poorly
Black
Cricket
Nothing
Stone
Heart
Mirror
Like
Mirrors
Sounds
Stones
Dimness
Works
Hush

More quotes by Charles Simic

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Insomnia is an all-night travel agency with posters advertising faraway places.
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The poem I want to write is impossible. A stone that floats.
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There’s no preparation for poetry.
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A poem is an invitation to a voyage. As in life, we travel to see fresh sights.
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If the sky falls they shall have clouds for supper.
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For Emily Dickinson every philosophical idea was a potential lover. Metaphysics is the realm of eternal seduction of the spirit by ideas.
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The world is beautiful but not sayable. That's why we need art.
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One writes because one has been touched by the yearning for and the despair of ever touching the Other.
Charles Simic
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To submit to chance is to reveal the self and its obsessions.
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Only poetry can measure the distance between ourselves and the Other.
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Found objects, chance creations, ready-mades (mass-produced items promoted into art objects, such as Duchamp's Fountain-urinal as sculpture) abolish the separation between art and life. The commonplace is miraculous if rightly seen.
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He who cannot howl will not find his pack.
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Only brooms Know the devil Still exists, That the snow grows whiter After a crow has flown over it
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I slept little, read a lot, and fell in love frequently.
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Poetry is an orphan of silence.
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I'm not a stickler for truth. To me, lying in poetry is much more fun. I'm against lying in life, in principle, in any other activity except poetry.
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If I believe in anything, it is in the dark night of the soul. Awe is my religion, and mystery is its church.
Charles Simic
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There are knives that glitter like altars In a dark church Where they bring the cripple and the imbecile To be healed. There's a woden block where bones are broken, Scraped clean--a river dried to its bed
Charles Simic
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Inside my empty bottle I was constructing a lighthouse while all others were making ships.
Charles Simic
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Wanted: a needle swift enough to sew this poem into a blanket.
Charles Simic