May Sarton
May Sarton
May Sarton is the pen name of Eleanore Marie Sarton, an American poet, novelist and memoirist...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionNon-Fiction Author
Date of Birth3 May 1912
CountryUnited States of America
writing thinking purpose
I have written every poem, every novel, for the same purpose-to find out what I think, to know where I stand.
lying eye healing
O cruel cloudless space, And pale bare ground where the poor infant lies! Why do we feel restored As in a sacramental place? Here Mystery is artifice, And here a vision of such peace is stored, Healing flows from it through our eyes.
strong spring struggle
We saw the strong trees struggle and their plumes do down, The poplar bend and whip back till it split to fall, The elm tear up at the root and topple like a crown, The pine crack at the base - we had to watch them all. The ash, the lovely cedar. We had to watch them fall. They went so softly under the loud flails of air, Before that fury they went down like feathers, With all the hundred springs that flowered in their hair, and all the years, endured in all the weathers - To fall as if they were nothing, as if they were feathers.
self innocence pure
Innocence is not pure so much as pleased, Always expectant, bright-eyed, self-enclosed
solitude salt flavor
Solitude is the salt of personhood. It brings out the authentic flavor of every experience.
feelings want strange
I want feelings to be expressed, to be open, to be natural, not to be looked on as strange. It's not weird if you feel deeply.
self class two
... the reason why there are so few first-class poets is that many people have intense feelings or first-class minds but to get the two together so that you will be willing to put a poem through sixty drafts, to be that self-critical, to keep breaking it down, that is what is rare. Right now most poetry is just self-indulgence.
teaching way needs
Poetry has a way of teaching one what one needs to know ... if one is honest.
poet time-spent
Time spent with poets is never wasted.
want stills
What can I have that I still want?
grace gardening instruments
Gardening is the instrument of grace.
trying tables clear
Try making a poem as if it were a table, clear and solid, standing there outside you.
novel felt written
I suppose I have written novels to find out what I thought about something and poems to find out what I felt about something.
voice space silence
A great silence has descended on me for the last six months. I am as silent as an Arab in the desert, as dry, thirsty, and full of wonder and rumours which do not materialize into camels or travellers at all, but just vanish into the silent spaces from where they came. I expect this is a good thing though it is extremely irritating - the brink of a voice and never a voice.