“
I would admit that poetry is something more than mere communication and that if that 'something more' could be abstracted from the whole, it might well prove to be that which makes the whole a poem.
— Louis MacNeice
poet, writer, playwright
🔗 Read on Wikipedia1907 – 1963
I would admit that poetry is something more than mere communication and that if that 'something more' could be abstracted from the whole, it might well prove to be that which makes the whole a poem.
World is suddener than we fancy it.
September has come, it is hers
In my own prejudice ... I would have of a poet ... whose worlds would not be too esoteric ... fond of talking ... capable of pity and laughter ... appreciative of women ... involved in personal relationships ... susceptible to physical impressions...
It’s no go the Yogi-Man, it’s no go Blavatsky,All we want is a bank balance and a bit of skirt in a taxi.
It’s no go my honey love, it’s no go my poppet;But if you break the bloody glass you won’t hold up the weather.
Some on commission, some for the love of learning, The drumming of the demon in their ears.
I am not yet born; O hear me.Let not the bloodsucking bat or the rat or the stoat or the clubfooted ghoul come near me.
I am not yet born; forgive meHands, my death when they live me.
O early one morning I walked out like Agag,With tinkle of glasses and tangle of wire.
Then twangling their bibles with wrath in their nostrilsYour flame shall not quench nor your thirst shall not slake."
