John Ashbery Quotes

How many facts we have fallen through And still the old façade glimmers there, A mirage, but permanent. We must first trick the idea
John Ashbery (b. 1927), U.S. poet, critic. "Flowering Death."
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An inexhaustible wardrobe has been placed at the disposal Of each new occurrence. It can be itself now.
John Ashbery (b. 1927), U.S. poet, critic. "Scheherazade."
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The apples are all getting tinted In the cool light of autumn. The constellations are rising In perfect order: Taurus, Leo, Gemini.
John Ashbery (b. 1927), U.S. poet, critic. "The Skaters, IV."
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... the first step of the terrible journey toward feeling somebody should act, that ends in utter confusion and hopelessness, east of the sun and west of the moon.
John Ashbery (b. 1927), U.S. poet, critic. "For John Clare."
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And just as there are no words for the surface, that is, No words to say what it really is, that it is not Superficial but a visible core, then there is No way out of the problem of pathos vs. experience.
John Ashbery (b. 1927), U.S. poet, critic. "Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror."
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The sands are frantic In the hourglass. But there is time To change, to utterly destroy That too-familiar image Lurking in the glass
John Ashbery (b. 1927), U.S. poet, critic. "The Skaters," IV.
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I say this because there is an uneasiness in things just now. Waiting for something to be over before you are forced to notice it. The pollarded trees scarcely bucking the wind and yet it's keen, it make you fall over. Clabbered sky. Seasons that pass with a rush.
John Ashbery (b. 1927), U.S. poet, critic. "For John Clare."
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I feel the carousel starting slowly And going faster and faster: desk, papers, books, Photographs of friends, the window and the trees Merging in one neutral band that surrounds Me on all sides, everywhere I look.
John Ashbery (b. 1927), U.S. poet, critic. "Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror."
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I wish to come to know you get to know you all Let your belief in me and me in you stand tall Just like a project of which no one tells Or do ya still think that I'm somebody else?
John Ashbery (b. 1927), U.S. poet, critic. "The Songs We Know Best."
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Why must it always end this way? A dais with woman reading, with the ruckus of her hair And all that is unsaid about her pulling us back to her, with her Into the silence that night alone can't explain.
John Ashbery (b. 1927), U.S. poet, critic. "Forties Flick."
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