Monday, 14 April 2008


I know it’s pretty absurdly fucking famous and has been quoted to death by all kinds of people over the years, but Auden in the elegy for Yeats is always worth repeating:

For poetry makes nothing happen: it survives
In the valley of its making where executives
Would never want to tamper, flows on south
From ranches of isolation and the busy griefs,
Raw towns that we believe and die in; it survives,
A way of happening, a mouth.

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