Moore was born in Kirkwood, Missouri, in the manse of the Presbyterian church where her maternal grandfather, John Riddle Warner, served as pastor. She was the daughter of construction engineer and inventor John Milton Moore and his wife, Mary Warner. She grew up in her grandfather's household; her father having been committed to a mental hospital before her birth. In 1905, Moore entered Bryn Mawr College in Pennsylvania and graduated four years later. She taught at the Carlisle Indian Industrial School in Carlisle, Pennsylvania, until 1915, when Moore began to publish poetry professionally.
In part because of her extensive European travels before the First World War, Moore came ... more »
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Marianne Moore Poems
I, too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyond all this fiddle. Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one discovers in
Man looking into the sea, taking the view from those who have as much right to it as you have to it yourself, it is human nature to stand in the middle of a thing,
This institution, perhaps one should say enterprise out of respect for which one says one need not change one's mind
My father used to say, "Superior people never make long visits, have to be shown Longfellow's grave nor the glass flowers at Harvard.
you've seen a strawberry that's had a struggle; yet was, where the fragments met,
The Past is the Present
If external action is effete and rhyme is outmoded, I shall revert to you, Habakkuk, as when in a Bible class
Baseball and Writing
Fanaticism?No.Writing is exciting and baseball is like writing. You can never tell with either how it will go
He Made This Screen
not of silver nor of coral, but of weatherbeaten laurel. Here, he introduced a sea
Another armored animal–scale lapping scale with spruce-cone regularity until they form the uninterrupted central tail row! This near artichoke with head and legs and
Dürer would have seen a reason for living in a town like this, with eight stranded whales to look at; with the sweet sea air coming into your house on a fine day, from water etched
Beauty and Beauty's son and rosemary - Venus and Love, her son, to speak plainly - born of the sea supposedly, at Christmas each, in company,
To a Steam Roller
The illustration is nothing to you without the application. You lack half wit. You crush all the particles down into close conformity, and then walk back and forth on them.
No Swan So Fine
"No water so still as the dead fountains of Versailles." No swan, with swart blind look askance and gondoliering legs, so fine
The Paper Nautilus
For authorities whose hopes are shaped by mercenaries? Writers entrapped by teatime fame and by
Quotationsmore quotations »
''I see no reason for calling my work poetry except that there is no other category in which to put it.''Marianne Moore (1887-1972), U.S. poet. Quoted in New York Mirror (May 31, 1959). On accepting the National Book Award for poetry.
''When one cannot appraise out of one's own experience, the temptation to blunder is minimized, but even when one can, appraisal seems chiefly useful as appraisal of the appraiser.''Marianne Moore (1887-1972), U.S. poet. repr. In Complete Prose (1987). "Comment," Dial, no. 85 (New York, Oct. 1928).
''Egotism is usually subversive of sagacity.''Marianne Moore (1887-1972), U.S. poet. repr. In Complete Prose (1987). "Comment," Dial, no. 82 (New York, March 1927).
''Poetry, that is to say the poetic, is a primal necessity.''Marianne Moore (1887-1972), U.S. poet. first published in Dial, no. 81 (New York, Aug. 1926). "Comment," Complete Prose (1987).
''War is pillage versus resistance and if illusions of magnitude could be transmuted into ideals of magnanimity, peace might be realized.''Marianne Moore (1887-1972), U.S. poet. repr. In Complete Prose (1987). "Comment," no. 86, Dial (New York, April 1929).
Comments about Marianne Moore
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
I, too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyond all
Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one
it after all, a place for the genuine.
Hands that can grasp, eyes
that can dilate, hair that can rise
if it must, these things are important not because a
high-sounding interpretation can be put upon them but because
useful. When they become so derivative as to become
the same thing may be said for all of us, that we
do not admire what
we cannot understand: the ...