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Geoffrey Hill Quotes

I think art has a right — not an obligation — to be difficult if it wishes. And, since people generally go on from this to talk about elitism versus democracy, I would add that genuinely difficult art is truly

I think art has a right — not an obligation — to be difficult if it wishes. And, since people generally go on from this to talk about elitism versus democracy, I would add that genuinely difficult art is truly democratic.

Geoffrey Hill
Art, Thinking, People
"Geoffrey Hill, The Art of Poetry No. 80". Interview with Carl Phillips, www.theparisreview.org. Spring 2000.

Public toilets have a duty to be accessible, poetry does not.

Geoffrey Hill
Doe, Toilets, Duty

We are difficult. Human beings are difficult. We're difficult to ourselves, we're difficult to each other. And we are mysteries to ourselves, we are mysteries to each other. One encounters in any ordinary day far more real difficulty than one confronts in the most “intellectual” piece of work. Why is it believed that poetry, prose, painting, music should be less than we are? Why does music, why does poetry have to address us in simplified terms, when if such simplification were applied to a description of our own inner selves we would find it demeaning?

Geoffrey Hill
Real, Self, Ordinary Days

... one of the things the tyrant most cunningly engineers is the gross over-simplification of language, because propaganda requires that the minds of the collective respond primitively to slogans of incitement.

Geoffrey Hill
Tyrants, Mind, Language

We are difficult. Human beings are difficult. We’re difficult to ourselves, we’re difficult to each other.

Geoffrey Hill
Difficult, Humans, Human Beings
"Geoffrey Hill, The Art of Poetry No. 80". Interview with Carl Phillips, www.theparisreview.org. Spring 2000.

Snooki is a bestselling author? Huh? What? I don't know if I should dumb down my book, shoot myself or find a publisher who'll settle for a rough draft written on a Pop-Tart and a coconut lotion handie.

Geoffrey Hill
Book, Dumb, Rough Drafts

Autumn resumes the land, ruffles the woods with smoky wings, entangles them.

Geoffrey Hill
Nature, Autumn, Land
Geoffrey Hill (2000). “New & Collected Poems, 1952-1992”, p.148, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

Thus I grind to conclusion.

Geoffrey Hill
Grind, Conclusion

Dig -- the mostly uncouth -- language of grace.

Geoffrey Hill
Grace, Language, Uncouth
Geoffrey Hill (2013). “Broken Hierarchies: Poems 1952-2012”, p.415, Oxford University Press

As estimated, you died. Things marched, sufficient, to that end. Just so much Zyklon and leather, patented terror, so many routine cries.

Geoffrey Hill
Death, Routine, Cry
Geoffrey Hill (2000). “New & Collected Poems, 1952-1992”, p.55, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

Platonic England, house of solitudes, rests in its laurels and its injured stone

Geoffrey Hill
House, Solitude, Stones
Geoffrey Hill (2013). “Broken Hierarchies: Poems 1952-2012”, p.129, Oxford University Press

September fattens on vines. Roses flake from the wall. The smoke of harmless fires drifts to my eyes. This is plenty. This is more than enough.

Geoffrey Hill
Wall, Eye, Fire
Geoffrey Hill (2013). “Broken Hierarchies: Poems 1952-2012”, p.44, Oxford University Press

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