FISH SONG Nobody knows da trouble I’ve seen Nobody knows my sorrow Nobody knows da trouble I’ve seen Lordy lordy lord. Nobody now knows nothing No stuff No junk No words of my life No secrets No nothing that moves or shakes me. What is my life but a sad tale Of fish flying And maybe a whale Nobody knows the trouble Nobody’s now my girl Rhubarb and roses Fly away home. © Alan Kleiman 2011
The crown of literature is poetry. It is its end and aim. It is the sublimest activity of the human mind. It is the achievement of beauty and delicacy. The writer of prose can only step aside when the poet passes. ~W. Somerset Maugham
“It is a sad fact about our culture that a poet can earn much more money writing or talking about his art than he can by practicing it.” ~W.H. Auden
“Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depths of some devine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy autumn fields, And thinking of the days that are no more.” Alfred Lord Tennyson
A poet must be a psychologist, but a secret one: he should know and feel the roots of phenomena but present only the phenomena themselves in full bloom or as they fade away. Ivan Turgenjev Painting Portrait of Turgenjev by Ilja Repin
I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests. ~Pablo Neruda, quoted in Wall Street Journal,, 14 November 1985
“Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard.” Anne Sexton
Dancing, dancing the tango With you my love As if we are the only ones Dancing in this world We both feel this passionate love of ours Bodies close together While we are turning and moving around Listening to these bittersweet words Of pain and despair Please let the music continue, I do not want to stop And step back into the real world Let me dance Just a little bit longer Cherish this safety Of your protective arms Seeing these proud movements In a sensual way Submission and...