Top 54 Quotes & Sayings by Carol Ann Duffy

Explore popular quotes and sayings by a British poet Carol Ann Duffy.
Last updated on November 21, 2024.
Carol Ann Duffy

Dame Carol Ann Duffy is a British poet and playwright. She is a professor of contemporary poetry at Manchester Metropolitan University, and was appointed Poet Laureate in May 2009, resigning in 2019. She is the first woman, the first Scottish-born poet and the first known lesbian poet to hold the position.

I still read Donne, particularly his love poems.
I always say that I'll have a go and see whether the poem works and if it does, then fine.
Poetry and prayer are very similar. — © Carol Ann Duffy
Poetry and prayer are very similar.
I think the dangers are different now. Our abuse of the planet and our resources is an anxiety.
I like to think that I'm a sort of poet for our times.
Edinburgh is my favourite city. We'll be doing a lot of children's theatre and galleries.
It's always good when women win things in fiction because it tends to be more male-dominated, unlike poetry, which is more equal.
My prose is turgid, it just hasn't got any energy.
I think poetry can help children deal with the other subjects on the curriculum by enabling them to see a subject in a new way.
Poets deal in writing about feelings and trying to find the language and images for intense feelings.
I always wanted a child. Being a mother is the central thing in my life.
The poem is the literary form of the 21st century. It's able to connect young people in a deep way to language... it's language as play.
I have piles of poetry books in the bathroom, on the stairs, everywhere. The only way to write poetry is to read it. — © Carol Ann Duffy
I have piles of poetry books in the bathroom, on the stairs, everywhere. The only way to write poetry is to read it.
Between 9am and 3pm is when I work most intensely.
If we think of what's up ahead, with climate change and wars over water, it's very frightening.
I see the shape of the poem before I start writing, and the writing is just the process of arriving at the shape.
When you have a child, your previous life seems like someone else's. It's like living in a house and suddenly finding a room you didn't know was there, full of treasure and light.
I'll be left writing picture books and fairy tales.
Christmas is taken very seriously in this household. I believe in Father Christmas, and there's no way I'd do anything to undermine that belief.
I grew up in a bookless house - my parents didn't read poetry, so if I hadn't had the chance to experience it at school I'd never have experienced it. But I loved English, and I was very lucky in that I had inspirational English teachers, Miss Scriven and Mr. Walker, and they liked us to learn poems by heart, which I found I loved doing.
Like the sand and the oyster, it's a creative irritant. In each poem, I'm trying to reveal a truth, so it can't have a fictional beginning.
I write quite a lot of sonnets, and I think of them almost as prayers: short and memorable, something you can recite.
Auden said poetry makes nothing happen. But I wonder if the opposite could be true. It could make something happen.
I still have a feeling that I haven't written the best that I can write. I think all poets must feel this: that there is constantly something new to be discovered in the language. It's like a thrilling encounter, and you can find things.
I am always pleased to be asked to write a poem.
Every day is a gift with a child, no matter what problems you have.
I write in that space between Ella's childhood and mine. I know it all sounds a bit sinister.
You can find poetry in your everyday life, your memory, in what people say on the bus, in the news, or just what's in your heart.
Having a child takes you back to all those parts of your own childhood that you had hidden away.
The moment of inspiration can come from memory, or language, or the imagination, or experience - anything that makes an impression forcibly enough for language to form.
If I felt, in the event of a royal wedding, inspired to write about people coming together in marriage or civil partnership, I would just be grateful to have an idea for the poem. And if I didn't, I'd ignore it.
The poem is a form of texting... it's the original text. It's a perfecting of a feeling in language - it's a way of saying more with less, just as texting is.
Christmas is taken very seriously in this household. I believe in Father Christmas and there's no way I'd do anything to undermine that belief.
As anyone who has the slightest knowledge of my work knows, I have little in common with Larkin, who was tall, taciturn and thin-on-top, and unlike him I laugh, nay, sneer, in the face of death. I will concede one point: we are both lesbian poets.
I'll be left writing picture books and fairy tales — © Carol Ann Duffy
I'll be left writing picture books and fairy tales
Poets sing our human music for us.
What will you do now with the gift of your left life?
It's always good when women win things in fiction because it tends to be more male-dominated, unlike poetry, which is more equal
I think all poets must feel this: that there is constantly something new to be discovered in the language. It's like a thrilling encounter, and you can find things.
Better off dead than giving in; not taking what you want.
Poetry, above all is a series of intense moments ­ its power is not in narrative. I'm not dealing with facts, I'm dealing with emotion.
The stars are filming us for no one.
For me, poetry is the music of being human. And also a time machine by which we can travel to who we are and to who we will become.
Time hates love, wants love poor,/but love spins gold, gold, gold from straw.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper. — © Carol Ann Duffy
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
Where I lived - winter and hard earth.I sat in my cold stone roomchoosing tough words, granite, flint,to break the ice. My broken heart -I tried that, but it skimmed,flat, over the frozen lake.She came from a long, long way,but I saw her at last, walking,my daughter, my girl, across the fields,In bare feet, bringing all spring's flowersto her mother's house. I swearthe air softened and warmed as she moved,the blue sky smiling, none too soon,with the small shy mouth of a new moon.
My prose is turgid, it just hasn't got any energy
I like to use simple words, but in a complicated way.
You have me like a drawing, erased, coloured in, untitled, signed by your tongue.
She stood upon a continent of ice, which sparkled between sea and sky, endless and dazzling, as though the world kept all its treasure there; a scale which balanced poetry and prayer.
What do I haveto help me, without spell or prayer,endure this hour, endless, heartless, anonymous,the death of love?
How would you prepare to die on a perfect April evening?
I still read Donne, particularly his love poems
Between 9am and 3pm is when I work most intensely
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