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But all they want to do Is tie the poem to a chair with rope And torture a confession out of it. They begin beating it with a hose To find out what it really means.
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Prior to Wordsworth, humor was an essential part of poetry. I mean, they don't call them Shakespeare comedies for nothing.
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Beloved, till life can charm no more; And mourned, till Pity's self be dead
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It means treasury, but it is just a placewhere words congregate with their relatives,a big park where hundreds of family reunionsare always being held.
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I want to remove my hat, close my eyes,and feel the sun, warm and intermittent, on my face.
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Poetry is the history of the human heart, and it continues to record the history of human emotion, whether it's celebration or grief or whatever it may be.
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It seems only yesterday I used to believethere was nothing under my skin but light.If you cut me, I would shine.But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life,I skin my knees. I bleed.
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Words like feminism or democracy scare me. They are words with barnacles on them, and you can't see what's underneath.
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Not to say that authors are all such sourpusses, but you meet the author in the best possible way, on the written page. I am at my best there, more patient, more thoughtful.
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O Music! sphere-descended maid, / Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid!
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I would go into the kitchen for coffeeand on the way back to the page,curled in its roller,I would light one up and feelits dry rush mix with the dark taste of coffee.
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T was sad by fits, by starts 't was wild.