Роберт Лоуэлл цитаты
Дата рождения: 1. Март 1917
Дата смерти: 12. Сентябрь 1977
Роберт Лоуэлл — американский поэт, драматург и литературный критик, представитель исповедального направления в поэзии.
«Быть может, самый значительный из американских поэтов второй половины двадцатого века», как охарактеризовала его Американская Академия поэтов, подводя итоги XX века. Оказал большое влияние на англоязычную культуру. В 1947 удостоен звания Поэта-лауреата США.
Цитаты Роберт Лоуэлл
Those blessèd structures, plot and rhyme--
why are they no help to me now
I want to make
something imagined, not recalled?
I hear the noise of my own voice:
The painter's vision is not a lens,
it trembles to caress the light.
But sometimes everything I write
with the threadbare art of my eye
seems a snapshot,
lurid, rapid, garish, grouped,
heightened from life,
yet paralyzed by fact.
Yet why not say what happened?
Pray for the grace of accuracy
Vermeer gave to the sun's illumination
stealing like the tide across a map
to his girl solid with yearning.
We are poor passing facts,
warned by that to give
each figure in the photograph
his living name.“
— Robert Lowell, Day by Day
„I do think free will is sewn into everything we do; you can't cross a street, light a cigarette, drop saccharine in your coffee without really doing it. Yet the possible alternatives that life allows us are very few, often there must be none. I've never thought there was any choice for me about writing poetry. No doubt if I used my head better, ordered my life better, worked harder etc., the poetry would be improved, and there must be many lost poems, innumerable accidents and ill-done actions. But asking you is the might have been for me, the one towering change, the other life that might have been had.“
— Robert Lowell, Words in Air: The Complete Correspondence Between Elizabeth Bishop and Robert Lowell
„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. But where
The wind is westerly,
Where gnarled November makes the spiders fly
Into the apparitions of the sky,
They purpose nothing but their ease and die
Urgently beating east to sunrise and the sea;“
— Robert Lowell, Collected Poems