September twenty-second, Sir, the bough cracks with unpicked apples, and at dawn the small-mouth bass breaks water, gorged with spawn. Robert Lowell More Quotes by Robert Lowell More Quotes From Robert Lowell If youth is a defect, it is one we outgrow too soon. Robert Lowell defects youth ifs Poetry is not the record of an event: it is an event. Robert Lowell events poetry art The world is absolutely out of control now and is not going to be saved by any reason or unreason. Robert Lowell saved reason world We feel the machine slipping from our hands As if someone else were steering; If we see light at the end of the tunnel, It's the light of the oncoming train. Robert Lowell tunnels light hands In the end, there is no end. Robert Lowell ends Talking about the past is like a cat's trying to explain climbing down a ladder. Robert Lowell climbing cat past History has to live with what was here, Robert Lowell dies writing dull I myself am hell; Robert Lowell hell It's the light of the oncoming train. Robert Lowell end-of-the-tunnel light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel light It is night, Robert Lowell fear heart night I was overcome with an attack of pathological enthusiasm. Robert Lowell enthusiasm overcoming Most poetry is very formal, but when a modern poet is formal he gets more attention for it than old poets did. Robert Lowell modern poet attention Sometimes nothing is so solid to me as writing - I suppose that's what a vocation means - at times a torment, a bad conscience, but all in all, purpose and direction. Robert Lowell purpose writing mean I'm sure that writing isn't a craft, that is, something for which you learn the skills and go on turning out. It must come from some deep impulse, deep inspiration. That can't be taught, it can't be what you use in teaching. Robert Lowell inspiration teaching writing Pity the planet, all joy gone from this sweet volcanic cone; peace to our children when they fall in small war on the heel of small war--until the end of time to police the earth, a ghost orbiting forever lost in our monotonous sublime Robert Lowell sweet war children Everywhere, giant finned cars nose forward like fish; a savage servility slides by on grease. Robert Lowell grease car giants I want to apologize for plaguing you with so many telephone calls last November and December. When the 'enthusiasm' is coming on me it is accompanied by a feverish reaching out to my friends. After its over I wince and wither. Robert Lowell bipolar want depression Those blessed structures, plot and rhyme-- Robert Lowell plot poetry blessed In the end, every hypochondriac is his own prophet. Robert Lowell hypochondriac prophet ends I saw the spiders marching through the air, Swimming from tree to tree that mildewed day In latter August when the hay Came creaking to the barn. Robert Lowell swimming august air
