Top 10 Brian Howard Quotes at QuotationFun

Displaying Top 10 Brian Howard quotes

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I have two loves, and one is the terrible night the cannibal carnation, the soft storm beautiful, blind and black, invisible, alive and dead the carnation face, the lullaby, the kindest poison, the prison. Oh loud, loud is the night, the flower made of mouths louder than the day, louder than my heart. The sun falls, and at once there swings up from the ground, in at the window the night, the drooping thunder, the carnation. It is a burst flower, its blood has burst it, the petals are waving fans of soft blood. It is the mounting night.

Love Letter - London, 1930.

Poetry

I love the day, the yellow phoenix, but I love the terrible night. I have two loves, and one is the day, the peace, the brother-lover, the phoenixhe is covered with folding veils of silent fire he sits and swells within a scroll of strong, harmless fire that can fill the world, and that feeds me, so that I am the world. This is the day, the gold food, my truth.

Entends la douce nuit qui marche - London, 1930.

Poetry

Stand, figure! Stand upon the future, while the past and the present drop, nails from your high hands and feet. Stand, figure, and live, and live! While the future swings and blazes upon the only landscape. The new sun roars above. It is all the birds. Stand, figure! All the flowers burst and roll upon the rocks. It is the end. The heart is building. It is the beginning. Stand, figure, brown star, in the heart!

The Figure - London, 1930.

Poetry

The figure stands. A cross, a brown star in the scaffolding of the half built house. The heart. The sun bounds out of the mountain while the gun fires again and again. It is the spring. The gun fires. And a new sun whistles straight up into the centre of the skyto hang and throb and flash and shudder. White flowers and animals pour across the rocks.

The Figure - London, 1930.

Poetry

You will grow no pansy in the loud coal no pansy grows where the coal falls, fighting. The grate is a body burning, but where's the pansy that lifts a long, black song in the breaking pleasure of fire? The coal flies, the coal dies there is no earth in that bed. You will have to come back to earth. With only a white sheet twisting, how how can you grow black pansies in a winding sheet?

Love Letter - London, 1930.

Poetry

All a large black summer's death dies in this one moment (this nought) one afternoon. The sky, pearl in the shut shell, leans, sick asleep down the slum to the slum. The rain's chains, without one sound sung thin still chains, hang, hardly seen, locking London unlit. Tearless, I prepare the leap up, newest, longest, most far I crouch, one, struck, windless, fireless, heavy, heavy the wound hoping not, speaking not, I knot the nameless muscle. O Life! bend down, bend my bow, send my arrow high, now, not low, below. I am my arrow. I have thick hearts to kill, that have killed me. Yet, I am. I, still, am. Hurl me hard, high, and I will kill, and live, and still give life, O Life.

Up - London, 1930.

Poetry

I will never give up asking, where are the days? Still the hero dwindles upon the marble, chained with bones. Where is the headland, where are the larger clouds? Where is the place where there are men and women? We have been insulted by all islands, all voices and times. Yet I shall ask always, when will the lovers come, where are the days?

Always - London - 1930.

Poetry

The figure stands between the fingers of the coming heartthe slim beams of the heart, the veins the scaffolding of the house. The heart. Legs wide, and arms wide. The widest light. The man, the spreading angel. Cross. Star.

The Figure - London, 1930.

Poetry

Believe in the body in the landscape! The wind on the rock is a flowing flower. A gun fires on the mountain, the great sound flies, like another world, over my hollow past. The flowers flow across the rock.

The Figure - London, 1930.

Poetry

The worlds are one. It is the spring. The landscapes are one. The mountain is all the mountains. The stream has swept all the world's water into one. The one rock rises. The wind lies shining on the rock.

The Figure - London, 1930.

Poetry

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