Why Poetry Matters

So when it comes to poetry, most of us either love it or hate it. Well... maybe we don't "hate" it, but we just don't "get" it. It doesn't click. Doesn't resonate. We get lost in the metaphors and frightened by the lack of structure.

You've probably sensed from that I'm more of a prose person. I like to think I have an appreciation for both. But just like the American Lit vs Brit Lit (I prefer American) and the Hamlet vs Macbeth (I prefer Hamlet) either-or's, I prefer prose to poetry.

But occasionally I'm reninded of why poetry matters. This was one of those weeks. A friend was showing off a book she just picked up to check out a poet named Czelaw Milosz. Milosz was a Nobel Prize winner in literature after having been part of the Polish underground literary community during the time of World War II.

As my friend was telling me this, I began flipping through this particular volume of his collected poetry and stumbled upon something I'd like to share with you today:

"On Prayer"

You ask me how to pray to someone who is not.

All I know is that prayer constructs a velvet bridge

And walking it we are aloft, as on a springboard,

Above landscapes the color of ripe gold

Transformed by a magic stopping of the sun.

That bridge leads to the shore of Reversal

Where everything is just the opposite and the word 'is'

Unveils a meaning we hardly envisioned.

Notice: I say we; there, every one, separately,

Feels compassion for others entangled in the flesh

And knows that if there is no other shore

We will walk that aerial bridge all the same.

Prayer: a velvet bridge leading to the shore of Reversal. Have you ever thought of it like that? I hope if I'm ever questioned by a nonbeliever, like the speaker of the poem has been, that I can convey it with that much beauty, that I can liken prayer to something so charged and hopeful.

And that's what poetry does and that's why it matters. It's the quilting of words not otherwise 'entangled' to itself weave a bridge leading from our tangible world to others. I hope you find a poem this week that takes you there.