When you read and understand a poem, comprehending its rich and formal meanings, then you master chaos a little.
Memory exercised in a particular way is a natural gift of poetic genius. The poet above all else, is a person who never forgets certain sense impressions which he has experienced and which he can relive again as though with all their original freshness.
Interpretation
What this quote means
The quote highlights the unique memory of poets, who can vividly recall and relive their experiences to inspire their creativity.
Stephen Spender elucidates the idea that poets possess a special ability to exercise their memory in a way that allows them to access and recreate sensory experiences with remarkable clarity. This gift of memory enables them to draw from their past impressions, making their poetry rich and authentic, as they can weave their feelings and experiences into their art, reliving these moments in their creative process.
Themes
In practice
Example use cases
In a workshop on creative writing, one might quote this to inspire participants about the importance of memory in their poetry.
More from Stephen Spender
All quotes →The greatest poets are those with memories so great that they extend beyond their strongest experiences to their minutest observations of people and things far outside their own self-centeredness.
When a child, my dreams rode on your wishes, I was your son, high on your horse, My mind a top whipped by the lashes Of your rhetoric, windy of course.
Great poetry is always written by somebody straining to go beyond what he can do.
Similar quotes
And for the last three minutes on the wind of a windless day I have heard the sound of drums and flute.
In the big picture I write for an audience of people I've never met. By the final draft I'm looking for anything in the prose that's prospectively boring to strangers.
A writer's work is the product of laziness.
Music is the only religion that delivers the goods.
Fashion is about two things: the evolution and the opposite.
A voice had begun to sing. It was very far away and Digory found it hard to decide from what direction it was coming. Sometimes it seemed to come from all directions at once. Sometimes he almost thought it was coming out of the earth beneath them. Its lower notes were deep enough to be the voice of the earth herself. There were no words. It was hardly a tune. But it was beyond comparison, the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.