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Soldier, there is a war between the mind And sky, between thought and day and night. It is For that the poet is always in the sun, Patches the moon together in his room To his Virgilian cadences, up down, Up down. It is a war that never ends.

Wallace Stevens

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Wallace Stevens
Age: 75 †
Born: 1879
Born: October 2
Died: 1955
Died: August 2
Journalist
Lawyer
Playwright
Poet
Poet Lawyer
Writer
Ends
Sun
Thought
Moon
Together
Poet
Mind
Poetry
Cadences
Always
Room
Cadence
Never
Rooms
Patches
War
Soldier
Night
Sky

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All the great things have been denied and we live in an intricacy of new and local mythologies, political, economic, poetic, which are asserted with an ever-enlarging incoherence.
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A languid janitor bears His lantern through colonnades And the architecture swoons.
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Poetry has to be something more than a conception of the mind. It has to be a revelation of nature. Conceptions are artificial. Perceptions are essential.
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...after a night spent writing poetry, one is almost happy to hear the milkman at the door.
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The imagination is the liberty of the mind It is intrpeid and eager and the extreme of its achievement lies in abstraction.
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Tell X that speech is not dirty silence Clarified. It is silence made still dirtier.
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Music falls on the silence like a sense / A passion that we feel, not understand.
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The soul, O ganders, flies beyond the parks And far beyond the discords of the wind.
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Imagination...is the irrepressible revolutionist.
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The imperfect is our paradise.
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To live in the world but outside of existing conceptions of it.
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The fire burns as the novel taught it how.
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Style is not something applied. It is something that permeates. It is of the nature of that in which it is found, whether the poem, the manner of a god, the bearing of a man. It is not a dress.
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One sparrow is worth a thousand gulls, When it sings. The gull sits on chimney-tops. He mocks the guinea, challenges The crow, inciting various modes. The sparrow requites one, without intent.
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The life of the city never lets you go, nor do you ever want it to.
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Man is an eternal sophomore.
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And what's above is in the past As sure as all the angels are.
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Metaphor creates a new reality from which the original appears to be unreal.
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As life grows more terrible, its literature grows more terrible.
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After the final no there comes a yes And on that yes the future world depends.
Wallace Stevens