About Louise Bogan: Louise Bogan was an American poet. She was appointed the fourth Poet Laureate to the Library of Congress in 1945.
Come, drunks and drug-takers; come perverts unnerved! Receive the laurel, given, though late, on merit; to whom and wherever deserved. Parochial punks, trimmers, nice people, joiners true-blue, Get the hell out of the way of the laurel. It is deathle...
In the country whereto I go I shall not see the face of my friend Nor her hair the color of sunburnt grasses; Together we shall not find The land on whose hills bends the new moon In air traversed of birds. What have I thought of love? I have said, "...
The Initial Mystery that attends any journey is: how did the traveler reach his starting point in the first place?
Innocence of heart and violence of feeling are necessary in any kind of superior achievement: The arts cannot exist without them.
No more pronouncements on lousy verse. No more hidden competition. No more struggling not to be a square.
But childhood prolonged, cannot remain a fairyland. It becomes a hell.
Stupidity always accompanies evil. Or evil, stupidity.
The intellectual is a middle-class product; if he is not born into the class he must soon insert himself into it, in order to exist. He is the fine nervous flower of the bourgeoisie.
Because language is the carrier of ideas, it is easy to believe that it should be very little else than such a carrier.
Your work is carved out of agony as a statue is carved out of marble.
