Robert Lowell
Robert Lowell
Robert Traill Spence Lowell IVwas an American poet. He was born into a Boston Brahmin family that could trace its origins back to the Mayflower. His family, past and present, were important subjects in his poetry. Growing up in Boston also informed his poems, which were frequently set in Boston and the New England region. The literary scholar Paula Hayes believes that Lowell mythologized New England, particularly in his early work...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth1 March 1917
CountryUnited States of America
The monument sticks like a fishbone / in the city's throat.
If we see light at the end of the tunnel, it the light of the oncoming train.
It is almost never possible to do pre-licensing studies that are large enough to find very rare events with great certainty, ... We have to find the correct balance between safety and making new preventive tools -- such as vaccines -- at a cost our society can afford.
If youth is a defect, it is one we outgrow too soon.
In the end, there is no end.
Most poetry is very formal, but when a modern poet is formal he gets more attention for it than old poets did.
I want to apologize for plaguing you with so many telephone calls last November and December. When the 'enthusiasm' is coming on me it is accompanied by a feverish reaching out to my friends. After its over I wince and wither.
I was overcome with an attack of pathological enthusiasm.
In the end, every hypochondriac is his own prophet.
I'm sure that writing isn't a craft, that is, something for which you learn the skills and go on turning out. It must come from some deep impulse, deep inspiration. That can't be taught, it can't be what you use in teaching.
I saw the spiders marching through the air, Swimming from tree to tree that mildewed day In latter August when the hay Came creaking to the barn.
Life begins to happen. My hoppped up husband drops his home disputes, and hits the streets to cruise for prostitutes
Middle Age At forty-five, What next, what next? At every corner, I meet my Father, My age, still alive.
Their monument sticks like a fishbone in the city's throat.