Our doom is, to be sifted by the wind, heaped up, smoothed down like silly sands. We are less permanent than thought. — Basil Bunting Copy Share Image
“The mason stirs. Words! Pens are too light. Take a chisel to write.” — Basil Bunting Copy Share Image
The times are squalid. They always were. It is a poet's duty to hold the line. — Basil Bunting Copy Share Image
But their determination to banish fools foundered ultimately in the installation of absolute idiots. — Basil Bunting Copy Share Image
All you can usually say about a poem or a picture is, 'Look at it, listen to it.' Whether you listen to a piece… — Basil Bunting Copy Share Image
“It tastes good, garlic and salt in it, with the half-sweet white wine of Orvieto on scanty grass under great trees where the ramparts… — Basil Bunting Copy Share Image
Praise the green earth. Chance has appointed her home, workshop, larder, middenpit. Her lousy skin scabbed here and there by cities provides us with… — Basil Bunting Copy Share Image
The mystic purchases a moment of exhilaration with a lifetime of confusion; and the confusion is infectious and destructive. It is confusing and destructive… — Basil Bunting Copy Share Image
To appreciate present conditions, collate them with those of antiquity. — Basil Bunting Copy Share Image
Whether you listen to a piece of music, or a poem, or look at a picture or a jug, or a piece of sculpture,… — Basil Bunting Copy Share Image
Compose aloud: poetry is a sound. Never explain- your reader is as smart as you. Your reader is not just any reader, but is… — Basil Bunting Copy Share Image
