Happy Valentines Day!
Here's a love letter to poetry from our Spoken Word Editor Bruno Cooke
An act of loving protest
One of my closest friends has started reading poetry again. We have a group. We’re reading C.A. Conrad’s The Book of Frank. He works long hours – my friend, that is, not Frank, I haven’t got to that part yet, though I have an idea of what’s to come. As such he (my friend) doesn’t have much time for reading, let alone reading poetry.
Let alone. Curious, that. Anyway, my friend observed that whether or not he’s reading poetry is an accurate gauge of whether or not he’s happy. I’m paraphrasing, but I thought, huh, you could say the same for me too. Not a direct correlation, but there’s definitely something there. Why is that, do we think?
In most cases, for most people, there’s no point in reading poetry. If there’s something important that needs doing, that takes precedence: work, chores, making sure our social needs are met, etc. There is no practical need for us to read poetry. You could say, well, there’s no need for us to watch TV either, or watch films. Well, no, but there are at least three reasons people are motivated to watch telly and movies that don’t apply – in most cases – to poetry.
My friend observed that whether or not he’s reading poetry is an accurate gauge of whether or not he’s happy
For a start, other people watch them. Therefore, even watching something alone is a potentially social act. We can recommend movies to people who already watch movies. We can discuss them. This is also true of novels. Also, cinema. They fit neatly into our brains. Each of us has a schema of the things we’ve watched. For some people (film buffs) this is big and complex. For others it’s simpler. Either way, we can fit new viewing experiences in with old ones. It requires little effort. Put something on and your eyes will do the rest, depending on the thing of course. The brain can relax. You, too, can relax. And there's another reason. Documentary telly and documentary movies are informative, so they 'improve' us in a measurable way. Ditto nonfiction books. Men read nonfiction because it gives them knowledge, and knowledge equals power, or something. Reading for pleasure is a “waste of time”.
Poetry, however, doesn’t improve us in a measurable way. It often takes a bit of work to read. Even if I’ve read 50 books of poetry, my network of poets and works of poetry pales in comparison to my web of movies, TV show episodes and novels. And I can rarely assume someone I meet reads poetry. Or cares to.
So, why read it? Maybe, actually, it’s because of all these reasons not to. Doing something that takes effort, just for the hell of it. Doing it assuming you won’t be able to talk to anyone about it. Doing it on the off chance it will move you. Wading out into the dark because maybe, an hour in and several yards out of sight of the nearest shoreline, you’ll strike something resembling gold. See, it’s sort of an act of protest, isn’t it? A weird, solitary walk. But that requires time, and not everyone has time. Or not everyone appreciates the value of doing something like that for themselves. There mightn’t be a payout. But looking for a payout is the surefirest way not to find one.
Poetry doesn’t meet many of our basic needs. No, sorry, it doesn’t
Poetry doesn’t meet many of our basic needs. No, sorry, it doesn’t. It doesn’t feed us or the kids. It doesn’t make money or mow the lawn or clean the house or go for a pint with our good friends to talk about what's been ailing us. All of those things need to be completed before (or after) reading poetry. So reading poetry requires of us either that we have already done those things (and are free to do what we want) or that we are secure in the knowledge that we will be able to in the future (before time runs out). In other words, our affairs need to be in order. That’s it: poetry doesn’t order our affairs. It exists outside them. It is superfluous and extra and not part of the regular timed order of things. There is no imperative to read it. No drive except the one we invent.
So if you do find yourself reading poetry, give yourself a pat on the back. You’re making time for yourself to do something superfluous and extra and outside the regular timed order of things, an act of loving protest.
Also, Happy Valentine’s Day!
Bruno Cooke is Spoken Word Editor of The Friday Poem. He recently launched a Substack publication called My Special Interest, and has written one novel (Reveries, available from You Know Where), four plays and two feature screenplays. Besides writing about poetry for The Friday Poem, Bruno writes poetry of his own and runs On Our Bicycles, a repository of bicycle touring guides. He has lived in China, Sri Lanka and the Philippines, and cycled in 50+ countries. In April 2023, Bruno set off round the world; receive updates via his personal blog.
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Thank you for your thoughtful love letter. I read poetry every day. I read old favourites that still stir me, like throwing a pebble into a pond for the umpteenth time to be fascinated by the ripples. And I read, as you have suggested, in the hope of coming across new ponds, new ripples. And I know that the more I read the greater the chance of that. Thank you Mr. Collier my English teacher who, 68 years ago, threw the first pebble.