A Complete & Necessary Waste of Time

It is difficult
to get the news from poems
yet men die miserably every day
for lack
of what is found there.
—William Carlos Williams

There is no disdain quite like the disdain for poetry. It takes many forms: the good-natured jab about lofty pretentions, the casual “not into it” disclaimer, the loudly raised eyebrow, the faux admiration. Mostly, however, it takes the form of utter indifference.

And why not? In an age of gadgets, global warming, and geopolitical Armageddon, a few sissy words means very little. At best they seem merely a polite affectation. Poems don’t change the oil, program computers, or pick up the kids from soccer practice. Even the great poet W. H. Auden confessed, “Poetry makes nothing happen.”

Some of this indifference comes from a belief that poetry is supposed to be hard or remote. In his short poem “Introduction to Poetry,” Billy Collins writes of his experiences as a teacher:

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem’s room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author’s name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.

For most people, reading poetry is akin to dissecting a frog in biology class, minus the smell of formaldehyde. You only read it for a grade. There are too many other things to worry about.

Poet Marianne Moore (d.1972), one of the most persnickety versifiers ever, agreed. In her poem “Poetry” she huffs, “I, too, dislike it: there are things that are important/beyond/all this fiddle.”

So why read poetry? My answer is simple. Reading poetry makes us bigger inside. It enlarges our capacity for life, our ability to more fully experience experience. It sharpens our inner sight.

Poetry refines our sense of language, a cornerstone of humanness. We learn to appreciate words themselves and their almost mystical power to convey ideas, emotions, and truth. Rather than being aloof from real life, poetry seeks to merge seamlessly with it, to become the thing itself. As poet Archibald MacLeish writes, “A poem should be equal to . . . not mean/But be.”

Poetry is fellowship. Like all good literature, a poem brings us into the presence of another human being. It doesn’t have to be a confessional poem either. Irony, observation, story-telling, assessment—all kinds of poems can open the door to a meaningful communion with another person. Poetry can be a great antidote for loneliness.

Above all, reading a poem can bring joy. Poetry can spark delight for delight’s sake: delight in an unexpected thought, a phrase well turned, or, as Alexander Pope wrote, “What oft was thought, but ne’er so well expressed.” I don’t know about you, but joy is one thing I can use more of.

Is poetry a waste of time? Absolutely. Just as a juicy plum or a heavy sweet peach picked ripe from the tree is. As poet Mark Strand knows, reading poetry is an unjustifiable, life-affirming pleasure:

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.

*****

[If you're interested in trying out a few poems, there are lots of good places to look. I'd suggest a collection of "great" poems available at libraries and bookstores. Visit "Verse Daily" or "Poetry Daily" by clicking on the links on the right. Check out the "Best American Poetry" series. Snoop. Find out what you like and don't. Contemporary poems can be more accessible but give more challenging poems a chance. Go for it.]