“It is difficult to get the news from poems
yet men die miserably every day
for lack
of what is found there.”
-Asphodel, That Greeny Flower
Why do we look to poems? Not for news, as Williams seems to suggest in ‘Asphodel, That Greeny Flower’. What do we lack that we seek in poems; what is it in us that is drawn, always, to that which we cannot fully explain or understand? In short, what is a poem? Man has used poetry for beauty, direction, reassurance, hope, expression- but still he is no closer to being able to describe what it is that lends a poem its inexpressible grace and elegance. All of us yearn for some kind of poetry in our lives, but the loveliness of poetry is that we see it in different forms- in maths, in music, in nature, in God. Though some may scorn poetry in its literary form, the truth is, we all have a predilection for poems, even if we do not see it ourselves.
In my opinion, the fundamental point of poetry is that it plays on thoughts and feelings which are an inextricable part of the human experience. A good poem shares unabashedly with the reader the emotions of the poet, yet also includes the reader in its stream of consciousness. How strange it is that we should seek uniqueness, when it is togetherness that we truly desire. All we want to feel is that someone else feels the same way, and that if we are lonely, it is not our loneliness, but rather the loneliness of time. Ultimately, we want to be reassured that this too shall pass. Poetry tells us this. It comforts us in our sadness, it adds to our joys, and when we do not want to be cured of our miseries, at least it paints a prettier picture of them so that we may delight in the elegiac quality of our own travesties, so that we feel, perhaps, that our grief, too, is beautiful in its own way. In its greatest form, poetry is a constant companion to us. One is reminded of the Pablo Neruda poem which begins with the consoling line, “ In these lonely regions I have been powerful…” . What gives one that power? Perhaps something as simple and delicate as a line from a beloved poem; the knowledge that, even in these lonely regions, there is beauty- if that is what one accepts poetry is- and that one is never truly alone. The truth of poetry is that we can never be alone once we have read it- and that in itself is something marvellous to behold.

