But always and sometimes questioning the old modes_x000D_ _x000D_ And the new wondering, the poem, growing up through the floor,_x000D_ _x000D_ Standing tall in tubers, invading and smashing the ritual_x000D_ _x000D_ Parlor, demands to be met on its own terms now,_x000D_ _x000D_ Now that the preliminary negotiations are at last over.
Interpretation
This quote reflects the evolution of art and the challenge of questioning traditional forms.
In this quote, John Ashbery explores the dynamic nature of creativity and the necessity of questioning established norms in art. It conveys a sense of growth and transformation, emphasizing how new artistic expressions emerge from the foundations of previous traditions, as artists push boundaries and demand recognition on their own terms.
In practice
In an art class, when discussing the importance of innovation, one might say, 'But always and sometimes questioning the old modes, as John Ashbery suggests, leads to new artistic expressions.'
The evening light was like honey in the trees When you left me and walked to the end of the street Where the sunset abruptly ended. The wedding-cake drawbridge lowered itself To the fragile forget-me-not flower. You climbed aboard. Burnt horizons suddenly paved with golden stones, Dreams I had, including suicide, Puff out the hot-air balloon now. It is bursting, it is about to burst
Then let yourself love all that you take delight in_x000D_ _x000D_ Accept yourself whole, accept the heritage_x000D_ _x000D_ That shaped you and is passed on from age to age_x000D_ _x000D_ Down to your entity. Remain mysterious;_x000D_ _x000D_ Rather than be pure, accept yourself as numerous.
until only infinity remained of beauty
The poem is sad because it wants to be yours, and cannot be.
The sun fades like the spreading_x000D_ _x000D_ Of a peacock's tail, as though twilight_x000D_ _x000D_ Might be read as a warning to those desperate_x000D_ _x000D_ For easy solutions.
Life is beautiful. He who reads that_x000D_ _x000D_ As in the window of some distant, speeding train_x000D_ _x000D_ Knows what he wants, and what will befall.
We who make stories know that we tell lies for a living. But they are good lies that say true things, and we owe it to our readers to build them as best we can. Because somewhere out there is someone who needs that story. Someone who will grow up with a different landscape, who without that story will be a different person. And who with that story may have hope, or wisdom, or kindness, or comfort. And that is why we write.
I come from a little island with the Caribbean Sea on one side and the Atlantic Ocean on the other. I come from, really, nowhere, and for me, the fiction and the nonfiction, creative or otherwise, all come from the same place.
People are fond of using military terms to describe what they do. We call it bombing when we go out painting, when of course it's more like entertaining the troops in a neutral zone, during peacetime in a country without an army.
What inspires a poem for me is usually a moment.
With all art expression, when something is seen, it is a vivid experience, sudden, compelling, and inevitable.
A tragedy is the imitation of an action that is serious and also, as having magnitude, complete in itself . . . with incidents arousing pity and fear, wherewith to accomplish its catharsis of such emotions.
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