Let us remember . . . that in the end we go to poetry for one reason, so that we might more fully inhabit our lives and the world in which we live them, and that if we more fully inhabit these things, we might be less apt to destroy both.
—Christian Wiman
I have been craving poetry lately, reading an entire volume of Robert Frost and a luminous chapbook by Gregory Orr, and returning to the words of Marie Howe and W.S. Merwin almost daily. The world can be a grim place, whether I’m battling the mundane frustrations of crowded commutes and grey rainy days and maddening to-do lists that seem to multiply overnight, or worrying over the larger issues of pain and hunger and need that plague so many people, in so many different ways.
As a bookworm, I am tempted to hide behind books when life is either colorless or painful, and sometimes escaping into a sweeping story or a beloved tale (or even a witty volume of letters) is just the ticket. But ultimately, hiding from my life and the world is neither productive nor satisfying. And poetry, with its brief, searching lines that often break me wide open, provides a way for me to pay more attention to both my life and the world around me. And when I start to pay more attention, to lean into the moments and middles and mundanities, I often find hope and beauty there. I often find sorrow and frustration, too, but poetry helps me realize that grief and ennui do not have the last word.
Do you read poetry – for this reason or for others? What helps you inhabit your life more fully? And what are the poems, or other words, you return to over and over?
cakes, tea and dreams 
I find myself returning again and again to the poets I met while taking Major British Writers 2 my Freshman year of college: William Blake, Matthew Arnold, Gerard Manley Hopkins. I also really enjoy Lee Young Li’s more modern take on life. I re-read “The Buried Life” by Mathew Arnold yesterday on a whim. Here’s a lovely bit from the sixth stanza:
“But often, in the world’s most crowded streets,
But often, in the din of strife,
There rises an unspeakable desire
After the knowledge of our buried life;
A thirst to spend our fire and restless force
In tracking out our true, original course;
A longing to inquire
Into the mystery of this heart which beats
So wild, so deep in us–to know
Whence our lives come and where they go.”
This, along with “[Carrion Comfort]” by Hopkins, is probably one of my favorite poems.
This is beautiful! What an amazing description of what it is to read poetry – that it opens you to life rather than hiding you from it. I so agree!
Katherne Sinclair Kinnaman, what a beautiful piece! Goes straight to the heart! This is so true…I find I hide too much in books…enables my procrastination…my inner Scarlet (to think about it another day).
Yes, yes, yes, I read poetry, all the time, though, just as you say, there are seasons when I am drawn to it even more powerfully than usual. I love Wendell Berry, Stanley Kunitz, Jane Kenyon, Sharon Olds, Mary Oliver … and so, so many more. xoox
I’ve long been a fan of poetry, both the reading and writing of it. Currently I’m reading Rilke’s Book of Hours, a poem every night before I go to bed. I’m almost through now and it’s become a lovely way to close out the day that I’m going to have to figure out which poet comes next.
i read poetry frequently but there are periods when it is all i read, periods when i crave it.
i love dickinson, oliver, seamus heaney, auden, wendell berry, yeats, valery.
I used to be the kind of person who would fall in love with particular poems rather than poets, but that is slowly changing… I delight in Rumi, Emily DIckinson, Elisabeth Browning, Robert Frost, and poets from my country Wisława Szymborska, Czeslaw Miłosz…
A few months ago I bought a lovely anthology “Soul food: Nourishing Poems for Starved Minds” and I am savouring it.
I am always amazed how poems capture in a few line exactly what I mean.
Poetry nourishes me, but sometimes I am afraid that it becomes my comfort food (I think you touch upon this in your post Katie). I want to read poems, but also express and live the words they bring.
Anyway, thank you for writing about poetry, never enough of it!
Hi Katie,
You are so right about the role of poetry in our lives. I find it of tremendous solace during troubled times. I would recommend to you Wendell Berry, who has a particular dark angst and some anger, but who in the end speaks so lyrically and movingly about his observations of the natural world that you can’t help but be uplifted and hopeful. I also love the anthology “Staying Alive, Real Poems for Unreal Times”. Many others of course who you probably also know and love. Thanks for this post, and your site. I can’t help but feel that we would be good friends, should we have the chance to sit down over a cup of tea. You can meet me at my blog if you like – thesongiliveby.wordpress.com. Named after a Wendell Berry poem as it happens.
🙂