Death is the sound of distant thunder at a picnic.
W. H. AudenRead
I used to try and concentrate the poem so much that there wasn't a word that wasn't essential. This leads to becoming boring and constipated.
Interpretation
The quote emphasizes the importance of balance in poetry, warning against over-editing and losing vitality.
W. H. Auden suggests that in the pursuit of perfection in poetry, one may become overly rigid and eliminate all but the most essential words. This leads to a loss of spontaneity and creativity, making the poem dull rather than vibrant. The quote serves as a reminder that art should retain a sense of life and fluidity rather than succumbing to an obsession with paring down to the essentials.
In practice
In a workshop about creative writing, one might reference this quote to encourage writers to embrace their instincts.
Death is the sound of distant thunder at a picnic.
That the speech of self-disclosure should be translatable seems to me very odd, but I am convinced that it is. The conclusion that I draw is that the only quality which all human being without exception possess is uniqueness: any characteristic, on the other hand, which one individual can be recognized as having in common with another, like red hair or the English language, implies the existence of other individual qualities which this classification excludes.
Nobody knows what the cause is, though some pretend they do; it like some hidden assassin waiting to strike at you. Childless women get it, and men when they retire; it as if there had to be some outlet for their foiled creative fire.
History is, strictly speaking, the study of questions; the study of answers belongs to anthropology and sociology.
Music is the best means we have of digesting time.
'Healing,' Papa would tell me, 'is not a science, but the intuitive art of wooing nature.'
January 8 has been a lucky day for me. I have started all my books on that day, and all of them have been well received by the readers. I write eight to ten hours a day until I have a first draft, then I can relax a little. I am very disciplined. I write in silence and solitude. I light a candle to call inspiration and the muses, and I surround myself with pictures of the people I love, dead and alive.
The artist must have something to say, for mastery over form is not his goal but rather the adapting of form to its inner meaning.
Things men have made with wakened hands, and put soft life into are awake through years with transferred touch, and go on glowing for long years. And for this reason, some old things are lovely warm still with the life of forgotten men who made them.
I mean, give me a guitar, give me a piano, give me a broom and string, I wouldn't get bored anywhere.
There's a kind of despair about whether art can really do anything, but you have to incorporate that despair into the way you work. I try to soak my work in my sense of futility and fury.
I realized by using the high notes of the chords as a melodic line, and by the right harmonic progression, I could play what I heard inside me. That's when I was born.
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