The Rabbit Room on Poetry: “The Word Made Fresh”

I was recently perusing a website that I love—The Rabbit Room—when I found an article that articulates something I’ve been meditating on. The author, Abram Van Engen, makes a gentle yet compelling case for why and how the average person should feel equipped to enjoy poetry. He draws attention to the prevalence and power of biblical poetry—a fact I wrote about a while back. That’s why Van Engen makes a special appeal to Christians.

The Bible beckons beyond itself. It invites us to experience the art of poetry, old and new and everything in between.

To take up this invitation, however, we have to accept one simple claim up front: that poetry is for us. We will never read a poem if we assume that poetry has been written for someone else. True, poetry can be difficult (though certainly not all of it). And true, some poets do seem to write almost exclusively for one another (though certainly not all of them). But most poems enter the world in and through the hope of reaching ordinary people. Poets spend their lives carefully placing one word after another in order to touch us with some turn of phrase or quirk of words. Like the prophets and psalmists before them, poets write not for themselves—or at least not for themselves alone. They write always, as well, for us.

Van Engen provides some practical tips on how to read an actual book of poetry and how to choose said book of poetry. I know that always feels daunting to me! Which poet should I start with? Which era, even? Modern? Ancient? Structured? Free verse? But Van Engen’s advice is simple: it doesn’t matter. Just pick something.

His advice for how to proceed is equally simple and applicable:

Once you begin, keep going. Don’t stop. Don’t question yourself. Read until you find yourself caught by a poem, touched, spoken to, challenged, recognized. We are seeking an instance of resonance. Confusion, boredom, and frustration you will find, absolutely. But pleasure and delight, a sudden movement of the heart, will take you by surprise. Push through the coats and mothballs in the wardrobe of poetry until you find yourself unexpectedly brushing up against real trees, a whole world you didn’t expect, something unpredictably wonderful. That’s the introduction. That’s the inauguration. Mark that poem and remember it. For this poem is the door that opens to all the rest. All you need to do is find that door.

Like Lucy in the wardrobe, we can push through the mundane until a spark of inspiration draws us further up and further in. All we have to do is start with a single poem and then keep going one poem at a time.

If you want to enjoy more of Van Engen’s article, check it out here. It’s short, sweet, and to the point. And if you want to enjoy more poetry, do it! I’ll be reading right along with you.