Everything is complicated; if that were not so, life and poetry

Hear now the words of Wallace Stevens, whose voice, though clothed in modern garments, speaks with the weight of the ancients: “Everything is complicated; if that were not so, life and poetry and everything else would be a bore.” This utterance is no idle remark. It is a flame lit in the darkness, reminding mortals that the tangled nature of existence is not a curse, but the very essence of wonder. For what would life be, if all paths were straight and all questions answered before they were asked? Such a life would be barren as a desert without water, and the spirit would wither for lack of struggle.

In these words, Stevens proclaims the sacred role of complexity. He reminds us that life is not made to be smooth and easy, but to demand of us courage, patience, and the poetry of endurance. The ancients knew this well. Heraclitus declared that strife is justice, that the clash of opposites births harmony. In the same manner, Stevens teaches that the intricacy of life gives rise to art, to thought, to longing, and to the beauty of song. Without the tangled threads, there is no tapestry. Without resistance, the bowstring cannot sing.

Consider the story of Odysseus, the wanderer of Ithaca. Had he sailed home swiftly, without storms, without monsters, without the temptations of Calypso or the rage of Poseidon, what tale would remain for us? Nothing but a short voyage, unworthy of memory. But it was the complications—the labyrinth of dangers and delays—that forged his name into legend. Through the twists of fate, his journey became poetry, and from his suffering came wisdom for countless generations. So it is with us all: what delays us, tests us, and confounds us also ennobles us.

Yet the saying is not only for heroes and poets. It belongs also to the humble life of men and women who face the daily toil of survival. The farmer whose crops fail learns new ways of sowing; the mother who struggles with her child discovers a deeper patience; the student who wrestles with difficulty finds a sharper mind. In each case, complication is not a wall but a threshold, through which one must pass to grow. It is the sculptor of character and the guardian of meaning.

Stevens, being a poet, binds complication to poetry. For poetry thrives on paradox, ambiguity, and layers upon layers of meaning. Were life simple, poetry would wither, for there would be nothing to interpret, nothing to reveal, nothing to wrestle from the depths. Just as the musician requires dissonance before harmony, the poet requires the labyrinth before the song of release. In this sense, life and poetry are kin, born of the same soil: the soil of difficulty and depth.

The lesson, then, is clear. Do not flee from the tangled roads of existence, nor curse them as misfortune. Welcome them, for they are the very source of richness. When the path winds, when obstacles rise, when answers are hidden in shadows—remember Stevens, and say to yourself: “Here lies meaning. Here lies the fullness of life.” To live without complication is to live without growth; to live without growth is to live without joy.

Therefore, take up this teaching into your own life. When you encounter struggle, do not despair but pause, breathe, and look upon it as a gift, a test of your spirit. When life entangles you, know that you are being woven into a greater tapestry. Keep a journal to reflect upon your hardships, for writing transforms turmoil into clarity. Read the lives of those who faced mighty challenges, and let their examples embolden your heart. And above all, cultivate patience, for the complicated flower does not bloom in haste, but when the season is ripe.

Thus remember: Everything is complicated. Rejoice in this truth. For complication is the fire in which your soul is tempered, the puzzle that awakens your mind, and the mystery that makes your life and your poetry worth living. To accept this is to walk as the wise have walked before you, with courage in the face of chaos, and gratitude in the presence of the unknown.