Quotes by Osip Mandelstam - Page 1

I love my poor earth because I have seen no other.
Osip Mandelstam / Poet
Earth
Poor
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Perhaps my whisper was already born before my lips.
Osip Mandelstam / Poet
Born
Lips
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My turn shall also come: I sense the spreading of a wing.
Osip Mandelstam / Poet
Turns
Wings
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Only in Russia poetry is respected - it gets people killed.
Osip Mandelstam / Poet
People
Poetry Is
Russia
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I was stopped in the dense Soviet wood by bandits who called themselves my judges.
Osip Mandelstam / Poet
Dense
Judging
Woods
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Logic is the kingdom of the unexpected. To think logically means to be continually amazed.
Osip Mandelstam / Poet
Kingdoms
Mean
Thinking
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A raznochinets needs no memory—it is enough for him to tell of the books he has read, and his biography is done.
Osip Mandelstam / Poet
Book
Memories
Needs
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Poetry is the plough that turns up time in such a way that the abyssal strata of time, its black earth, appear on the surface.
Osip Mandelstam / Poet
Black
Earth
Way
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The people need poetry that will be their own secret To keep them awake forever, And bathe them in the bright-haired wave of its breathing.
Osip Mandelstam / Poet
Breathing
Forever
People
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Where to start? Everything cracks and shakes, The air trembles with similes, No one world's better than another; the earth moans with metaphors.
Osip Mandelstam / Poet
Air
Cracks
World
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Perhaps the whisper was born before lips, And the leaves in treelessness circled and flew, And those, to whom we impart our experience as bliss, Acquire their forms before we do
Osip Mandelstam / Poet
Bliss
Flew
Lips
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And I walk out of space Into an overgrown garden of values, And tear up seeming stability And self-comprehension of causes. And your, infinity, textbook I read by myself, without people - Leafless, savage medical book, A problem book of gigantic radicals.
Osip Mandelstam / Poet
Space
Book
Garden
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Take from my palms, to soothe your heart, a little honey, a little sun, in obedience to Persephone's bees. You can't untie a boat that was never moored, nor hear a shadow in its furs, nor move through thick life without fear. For us, all that's left is kisses tattered as the little bees that die when they leave the hive. Deep in the transparent night they're still humming, at home in the dark wood on the mountain, in the mint and lungwort and the past. But lay to your heart my rough gift, this unlovely dry necklace of dead bees that once made a sun out of honey.
Osip Mandelstam / Poet
Home
Heart
Moving
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Osip Mandelstam Quotes - Page 1

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