Poets From Boston

"Boys, at war, so far away, will naturally droop, both in body and mind, from lack of a particular girl's snuggling and cuddling."

"What a City Council should do, and what it will do, don't always match up."

"I just can't think of anybody abusing an animal; nor of allowing it to stay around, sick, hurt or hungry. I think that an animal is but a point short of human; and, having a skin varying but slightly from our own, will know as much pain from a whipping as would a human child. A blow upon any animal, if I am within sight, is almost as a blow upon my own body. You would think that, with that vast gap which Mankind is continually placing back of him in his onward march in improving this big world, Man would think, a bit, of his pals of hoof, horn and claw."

"If Youth, throughout all history, had had a champion to stand up for it; to show a doubting world that a child can think; and, possibly, do it practically; you wouldn't constantly run across folks today who claim that "a child don't know anything." A child's brain starts functioning at birth; and has, amongst its many infant convolutions, thousands of dormant atoms, into which God has put a mystic possibility for noticing an adult's act, and figuring out its purport.Up to about its primary school days a child thinks, naturally, only of play. But many a form of play contains disciplinary factors. "You can't do this," or "that puts you out," shows a child that it must think, practically, or fail. Now, if, throughout childhood, a brain has no opposition, it is plain that it will attain a position of "status quo," as with our ordinary animals. Man knows not why a cow, dog or lion was not born with a brain on a par with ours; why such animals cannot add, subtract, or obtain from books and schooling, that paramount position which Man holds today."

"In this country, two things stand first in rank: your flag and your mail. You all know what honor you pay to your flag, but you should know, also, that your mail,—just that ordinary postal card—is also important. But a postal card, or any form of mail, is not important, in that way, until you drop it through a slot in this building, and with a stamp on it, or into a mail box outdoors. Up to that instant it is but a common card, which anybody can pick up and carry off without committing a criminal act. But as soon as it is in back of this partition, or in a mail box, a magical transformation occurs; and anybody who now should willfully purloin it, or obstruct its trip in any way, will find prison doors awaiting him. What a frail thing ordinary mail is! A baby could rip it apart, but no adult is so foolish as to do it. That small stamp which you stick on it, is, you might say, a postal official, going right along with it, having it always in his sight."

"Now Branton Hills had, as you know, built this school for public instruction; and, as with all such institutions, visiting days occur. And what a display of goods and workmanship! And what bright, happy pupils, standing proudly back of it! For mankind knows hardly a joy which will surpass that of approval of his work."

"If you want to hold a crowd, just mystify it."

"Kathlyn stood calmly watching; for this studious girl, way up in an "ology" or two, knows that, by slow, thoughtful watching, you can gain much, as against working up a wild, panicky condition."

"A human mind was built for contact with similar minds. It should,—in fact,—it must think about what is going on around it; for, if it is shut up in a thick, dark, bony box of a skull, it will always stay in that condition known as "status quo;" and grow up, antagonistic to all surroundings."

"Oh, how an animal that is hurt looks up at you, John! An animal's actions can inform you if it is in pain. It don't hop and jump around as usual. No. You find a sad, crouching, cringing, small bunch of fur or hair, whining, and plainly asking you to aid it. It isn't hard to find out what is wrong, John; any man or woman who would pass by such a sight, just isn't worth knowing. I just can't withstand it! Why, I think that not only animals, but plants can know pain. I carry a drink to many a poor, thirsty growing thing; or, if it is torn up I put it kindly back, and fix its soil up as comfortably as I can. Anything that is living, John, is worthy of Man's aid."

"Oh, what a lot of politically blind city and town officials I could point out within a day's auto trip from Branton Hills! Many such an official, upon winning a foothold in City Hall, thinks only of his own cohorts, and his own gain. So it is not surprising that public affairs grow stagnant. Truly, I cannot fathom such minds! I can think of nothing so satisfying as doing public good in as many ways as an official can. Think, for an instant, as to just what a city is. As I said long ago, it is not an array of buildings, parks and fountains. No. A city is a living thing! It is, actually, human; for it is a group of humanity growing up in daily contact; and if officials adopt as a slogan, "all I can do," and not "all I can grab," only its suburban boundary can limit its growth. Branton Hills attracts thousands, annually. All of that influx looks for comforts, an opportunity to work, and good schools. Branton Hills has all that; and I want to say that all who visit us, with thoughts of joining us, will find us holding out a glad hand; promising that all such fond outlooks will find confirmation at any spot within cannon-shot of City Hall."

"Isn't it surprising what an array of things a woman can drag forth, burrowing into attics, rooms and nooks! Things long out of mind; an old thing; a worn-out thing; but it has lain in that room, nook or bag until just such a riot of soap and scrubbing brush brings it out. And, as I think of it, a human mind could, and should go through just such a ransacking, occasionally; for you don't know half of what an accumulation of rubbish is kicking about, in its dark, musty corridors. Old fashions in thoughts; bigotry; vanity; all lying stagnant. So why not drag out and sort all that stuff, discarding all which is of no valuation? About half of us will find, in our minds, a room, having on its door a card, saying: "It Was Not So In My Day." Go at that room, right off. That "My Day" is long past. "Today" is boss, now. If that "My Day" could crawl up on "Today," what a mix-up in World affairs would occur! Ox cart against aircraft; oil lamps against arc lights! Slow, mail information against radio! But, as all this stuff is laid out, what will you do with it? Nobody wants it. So I say, burn it, and tomorrow morning, how happy you will find that musty old mind!"

"Affairs which look small or absurd to a full-grown man may loom up as big as a mountain to a child; and you shouldn't allow a fact that you saw a thing 'so much that I am sick of it,' to turn you away from an inquiring child. You wasn't sick of it, on that far-past day on which you first saw it."

"Though it was long thought that woman's brain was minor in comparison with man's, woman, as a class, now-a-day shows an all-round activity; and has brought staid control to official actions which had had a long run through domination by man;—that proud, cocky, strutting animal who thinks that this gigantic world should hop, skip and jump at his commands."

"It is curious why anybody should pooh-pooh a study of fossils or various forms of rocks or lava. Such things grant us our only vision into Natural History's big book; and it isn't a book in first-class condition. Far from it! Just a tiny scrap; a slip; or, possibly a big chunk is found, with nothing notifying us as to how it got to that particular point, nor how long ago. Man can only look at it, lift it, rap it, cut into it, and squint at it through a magnifying glass. And,—think about it. That's all; until a formal study brings accompanying thoughts from many minds; and, by such tactics, judging that in all probability such and such a rock or fossil footprint is about so old. Natural History holds you in its grasp through just this impossibility of finding actual facts; for it is thus causing you to think. Now, thinking is not only a voluntary function; it is an acquisition; an art. Plants do not think. Animals probably do, but in a primary way, such as an aid in knowing poisonous foods, and how to bring up an offspring with similar ability. But Man can, and should think, and think hard and constantly. It is ridiculous to rush blindly into an action without looking forward to lay out a plan. Such an unthinking custom is almost a panic, and panic is but a mild form of insanity."

"If you would only stop rating a child's ability by your own; and try to find out just what ability a child has, our young folks throughout this big world would show a surprisingly willing disposition to try things which would bring your approbation. A child's brain is an astonishing thing. It has, in its construction, an astounding capacity for absorbing what is brought to it; and not only to think about, but to find ways for improving it. It is today's child who, tomorrow, will, you know, laugh at our ways of doing things."

"Youth, if adults will only admit that it has any brains at all, will stand out, today, in a most promising light. Philosophically, Youth is Wisdom in formation, and with many thoughts startling to adult minds; and, industrially, this vast World's coming stability is now, today, in its hands; growing slowly, as a blossom grows from its bud. If you will furnish him with a thorough schooling, you can plank down your dollar that Youth, starting out from this miraculous day, will not lag nor shirk on that coming day in which old joints, rusty and crackling, must slow down; and, calling for an oil can, you will find that Youth only, is that lubrication which can run Tomorrow's World."

"A man should so carry on his daily affairs as to bring no word of admonition from anybody; for a man's doings should put a stain upon no soul but his own."

"Maria had a little sheep As pale as rime its hair, And all the places Maria came The sheep did tail her there; In Maria's class it came at last, A sheep can't enter there; It made the children clap their hands, A sheep in class, that's rare."

"I would be doing myself a great disservice if I do not do what I can to empower those who are less fortunate than I am; so that they can also have voices to share their bits of the knowledge pie"

"No single person has monopoly over knowledge, hence it is in my own interest to keep an open mind. To learn from the newborn baby and also from the aged woman on her death bed; from the billionaire and also from the street hawker."

"Visibility is not enough—we need actual complexity. Visibility can quickly turn into invisibility when the stories that make us visible actually reduce our humanity and complexity. This is especially true if we prop up token stories—tokenism is a big problem when it comes to the film industry—or any industry…"

"The ambiguity when the performance of self becomes self-destructive, or when performance of self becomes pathological. That gray area interests me as a poet because it’s so wrapped up in everyday life now that it’s almost mundane. So much of this performance is tied to feelings of worth and value; in essence, it becomes ongoing, an entire existence all on its own…"

"History books are necessary in order for us to know and perceive the truth, and there’s always a question of perspective and who gets to tell the story…"

"I would want a dreaming machine that dreams up the most beautiful dreams and then show me exactly how to make them a reality…This is the eternal conundrum: the visualization of desires (dreams), and then the dissonance between that and reality."

"North from the beautiful islands, North from the headlands and highlands, The long sea-wall, The white ships flee with the swallow; The day-beams follow and follow, Glitter and fall."

"Now that the wind is tamed and broken, And day gleams over the lea, Row, row, for the one you love Was out on the raging sea: Row, row, row, Sturdy and brave o’er the treacherous wave, Hope like a beacon before, Row, sailor, row Out to the sea from the shore!"

"Over the ships that are anchored, Over the fleets that part, Over the cities dark by the shore, High as a dream thou art!"

"She doesn't look a day over fifty. (p. 24)"

"A woman and a mouse, they carry a tale wherever they go."

"You'll feel differently about these things when you're married. (p. 25)"

"To appreciate nonsense requires a serious interest in life."

"there are no roads in all Bohemia !"

"I never saw a purple cow, I never hope to see one; But I can tell you, anyhow, I'd rather see than be one!"

"It isn't so much the heat... as the humidity. (p. 28)"

"Ah, yes, I wrote the "Purple Cow"— I'm Sorry, now, I wrote it; But I can tell you Anyhow I'll Kill you if you Quote it!"

"You're a sight for sore eyes. (p. 29)"

"I don't know much about Art, but I know what I like. (p. 24)"

"Then cricket sing thy song, or answer mine Thine whispers blame, but mine has naught but praises It matters not. — Behold the autumn goes, The Shadow grows, The moments take hold of eternity; Even while we stop to wrangle or repine Our lives are gone Like thinnest mist, Like yon escaping colour in the tree: — Rejoice! rejoice! whilst yet the hours exist Rejoice or mourn, and let the world swing on Unmoved by Cricket-song of thee or me."

"How oft in schoolboy-days, from the school's sway Have I run forth to Nature as to a friend, — With some pretext of o'erwrought sight, to spend My school-time in green meadows far away! Careless of summoning bell, or clocks that strike, I marked with flowers the minutes of my day."

"Why hold ye so my heart, nor dimly let Through your deep leaves the light of yesterday, The faded glimmer of a sunshine set? Is it that in your darkness, shut from strife, The bread of tears becomes the bread of life? Far from the roar of day, beneath your boughs Fresh griefs beat tranquilly, and loves and vows Grow green in your gray shadows, dearer far Even than all lovely lights and roses are?"

"Why isn't there more meat on this chicken It's as if the damned thing began starving itself once it knew what the future had in store for it Is this what they mean by "organic""

"But you were brushing out your hair and singing to yourself. And, for a moment, I think I saw what those artists saw — someone half in love with herself and half in love with the world."

"Life's race well run, Life's work well done, Life's victory won, Now cometh rest."

"I slept, and dreamed that life was Beauty; I woke, and found that life was Duty. Was thy dream then a shadowy lie? Toil on, poor heart, unceasingly; And thou shalt find thy dream to be A truth and noonday light to thee."

"He was formal in a rather awkward New England sense. His voice was soft and slow as he read the students' poems. At first I felt the impatient desire to interrupt his slow, line-by-line readings. He would read the first line, stop, and then discuss it at length. I wanted to go through the whole poem quickly and then go back. I couldn't see any merit in dragging through it until you almost hated the damned thing, even your own poems, especially your own. At that point, I wrote to Snodgrass about my impatience, and his reply went this way, "Frankly, I used to nod my head at his every statement, and he taught me more than a whole gang of scholars could." So I kept my mouth shut, and Snodgrass was right. Robert Lowell's method of teaching is intuitive and open. After he had read a student's poem, he would read another evoked by it. Comparison was often painful. He worked with a cold chisel, with no more mercy than a dentist. He got out the decay, but if he was never kind to the poem, he was kind to the poet."

"I loved his openness to receive influences. He was not a poet who said, "I'm an American poet, I'm going to be peculiar, and I'm going to have my own voice which is going to be different from anybody's voice." He was a poet who said, "I'm going to take in everything." He had a kind of multifaceted imagination; he was not embarrassed to admit that he was influenced even in his middle-age by William Carlos Williams, or by François Villon, or by Boris Pasternak, all at the same time. That was wonderful."

"A brackish reach of shoal off Madaket-- The sea was still breaking violently and night Had steamed into our North Atlantic Fleet, When the drowned sailor clutched the drag-net. Light Flashed from his matted head and marble feet, He grappled at the net With the coiled, hurdling muscles of his thighs: The corpse was bloodless, a botch of reds and whites, Its open, staring eyes Were lustreless dead-lights Or cabin-windows on a stranded hulk Heavy with sand."

"Once fishing was a rabbit's foot-- O wind blow cold, O wind blow hot, Let suns stay in or suns step out: Life danced a jig on the sperm-whale's spout-- The fisher's fluent and obscene Catches kept his conscience clean."

" I have been sojourning late Among the pleasant places of my Past, The green and quiet neighborhoods of Thought, In which I wandered in my wayward youth; With no companion but the constant Muse, Who sought me when I needed her—ah when Did I not need her, solitary else?"