The soul is not a soul, Has no secret, is small, and it fits Its hollow perfectly: its room, our moment of attention. — John Ashbery Copy Share Image
I like poems you can tack all over with a hammer and there are no hollow places. — John Ashbery Copy Share Image
“Yes, they are alive and can have those colors, But I, in my soul, am alive too. I feel I must sing and dance,… — John Ashbery Copy Share Image
How many people came and stayed a certain time, Uttered light or dark speech that became part of you Like light behind windblown fog… — John Ashbery Copy Share Image
Some certified nut Will try to tell you it's poetry, (It's extraordinary, it makes a great deal of sense) But watch out or he'll… — John Ashbery Copy Share Image
The ellipse is as aimless as that, Stretching invisibly into the future so as to reappear In our present. Its flexing is its account,… — John Ashbery Copy Share Image
Somewhere someone is traveling furiously toward you, At incredible speed, traveling day and night… — John Ashbery Copy Share Image
“The genius of Cornell is that he sees and enables us to see with the eyes of childhood, before our vision got clouded by… — John Ashbery Copy Share Image
The mind Is so hospitable, taking in everything Like boarders, and you don't see until It's all over how little there was to learn… — John Ashbery Copy Share Image
In the increasingly convincing darkness The words become palpable, like a fruit That is too beautiful to eat. — John Ashbery Copy Share Image
What I like about music is its ability to be convincing, to carry an argument through successfully to the finish, though the terms of… — John Ashbery Copy Share Image
“The Unknown Travelers Lugged to the gray arbor, I have climbed this snow-stone on my face, My stick, but what, snapped the avalanche The… — John Ashbery Copy Share Image
