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Only brooms Know the devil Still exists, That the snow grows whiter After a crow has flown over it
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
Stills
Brooms
Still
Flown
Crow
Snow
Exists
Devil
Grows
Evil
Whiter
More quotes by Charles Simic
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
I slept little, read a lot, and fell in love frequently.
Charles Simic
One writes because one has been touched by the yearning for and the despair of ever touching the Other.
Charles Simic
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.
Charles Simic
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.
Charles Simic
He who cannot howl will not find his pack.
Charles Simic
Only poetry can measure the distance between ourselves and the Other.
Charles Simic
Making art in America is about saving one's soul.
Charles Simic
Silence is the only language god speaks.
Charles Simic
Poetry is an orphan of silence.
Charles Simic
To submit to chance is to reveal the self and its obsessions.
Charles Simic
The world is beautiful but not sayable. That's why we need art.
Charles Simic
The truth is dark under your eyelids.
Charles Simic
There’s no preparation for poetry.
Charles Simic
The highest levels of consciousness are wordless.
Charles Simic
If the sky falls they shall have clouds for supper.
Charles Simic
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
Wanted: a needle swift enough to sew this poem into a blanket.
Charles Simic
In their effort to divorce language and experience, deconstructionist critics remind me of middle-class parents who do not allow their children to play in the street.
Charles Simic
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
