The poet is buried in the obliterated whiteness beneath the dark letters of a poem. — Jennifer Moxley, “Fragments of a Broken Poetics,” Chicago Review, Spring 2010 Advertisements
Poetry is an art of beginnings and ends. You want middles, read novels. — Dean Young, The Art of Recklessness: Poetry as Assertive Force and Contradiction (Graywolf Press, 2010)
The progress of an artist is a continual self-sacrifice, a continual extinction of personality. — T. S. Eliot, from “Tradition and Individual Talent,” The Sacred Wood: Essays on Poetry and Criticism (Routledge, 1989)
I don’t remember words, conversations or where we’d go, if we went anywhere. I do recall your missing smile and imagine that it is still on the loose. You may never find it, though I have suspicions you are keeping it bound in a box behind the sofa […] Maybe you even look at it,… Continue reading E.V. Noechel
Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal. ― T.S. Eliot, The Sacred Wood. (Faber & Faber, April 1, 1997) Originally published November 4th 1920.
Alone, very alone on a line — a line of poetry. — Jacques Derrida, Schibboleth: pour Paul Cela. (Editions Galilée, 1986)
…the book creates meaning, the meaning creates life. ― Roland Barthes, The Pleasure of the Text. (Hill andWang; Reissue edition, January 1, 1975)