Gil Thorpe is a great diversion and is to book writing as poetry

Hear now the words of Jerry B. Jenkins, who speaks with both humor and wisdom: “Gil Thorpe is a great diversion and is to book writing as poetry is to prose.” In these words, Jenkins compares the world of Gil Thorpe, a sports comic strip, to the vast and varied landscape of book writing, drawing a parallel between poetry and prose. At first glance, this may seem a light-hearted comparison, yet beneath it lies a deeper truth about the role and nature of different forms of writing. Poetry, like Gil Thorpe, serves as a diversion—it catches the reader in a brief but intense engagement, while prose—the longer, more detailed form of storytelling—takes its time, inviting the reader into a more expansive and intricate world.

In the ancient world, poetry and prose were understood to serve different purposes. The Greeks, who honored the Muses as the divine guides of both spoken and written art, knew that poetry was often a concentrated form of expression. It distills emotion, thought, and beauty into a few lines, a few breaths. Poetry does not unfold as prose does; it does not take you through long, drawn-out tales. Instead, it strikes like a spark, lighting up the imagination in an instant. Consider Homer, who used poetry not just to tell a story, but to encapsulate entire worlds in single lines. The Iliad and the Odyssey are vast epics, but they are made of poetry that condenses years of events into moments of beauty and insight.

Prose, on the other hand, is the long journey. Prose is where complexity can unfold, where characters grow and evolve across pages. The ancients had their philosophers—Plato, Aristotle, and Herodotus—whose prose was often dense and contemplative, unraveling complex ideas and histories over time. Unlike poetry, which often uses metaphor and rhythm to convey meaning, prose takes its time to explain, to explore, to immerse the reader in a world that is both broad and deep. In this way, prose and poetry serve different functions, though they are united in their pursuit of truth and beauty.

Consider, then, the role of Gil Thorpe in Jenkins’ analogy. It is, by nature, a diversion—quick, sharp, and to the point. It is not meant to be a lengthy, detailed narrative, but rather a small burst of entertainment that leaves the reader with a feeling, an image, a thought. Much like poetry, Gil Thorpe provides immediate satisfaction but offers little in terms of deep, prolonged reflection. Its brevity, its immediacy, is its charm. Similarly, poetry offers the reader a quick, concentrated hit of beauty or insight, capturing something fleeting in the space of a few lines. Prose, however, asks for patience, immersion, and time—much as a full-length novel requires the reader to settle in for the long haul.

History gives us ample examples of the interplay between poetry and prose. Think of William Shakespeare, who was a master of both forms. His plays are prose in dialogue, but his soliloquies—like Hamlet’s famous “To be or not to be”—rise to the heights of poetry. Here, Shakespeare understood that poetry could convey deep truths in ways that prose could not. But when he needed to weave the complex relationships and actions of his characters, he turned to prose, unfolding the drama with the careful detail and structure only prose allows. In this sense, both forms complement each other, each bringing its own unique power to the storytelling process.

The lesson in Jenkins' quote is clear: poetry and prose, like Gil Thorpe and the world of book writing, serve different purposes in the writer’s toolbox. They are both powerful, but in different ways. Poetry is a burst, a diversion that offers immediate beauty, while prose is a more sustained, intricate form that can hold complexity and depth. Writers must learn to understand the strengths of both forms. Poetry is for moments that must be captured quickly and deeply, while prose is for unfolding worlds, for breathing life into characters and ideas over time.

Practical actions follow. If you are a writer, understand when to turn to poetry and when to turn to prose. If you write a short story or a novel, weave your poetry into it—use lyrical moments to lift the reader’s spirit, to capture a feeling that cannot be fully explained in prose. If you write poetry, do not be afraid to keep it brief and intense, knowing that brevity itself can hold great power. Let the form you choose serve the meaning you wish to convey, and know when each is best suited for the task.

Thus, Jenkins’ words serve as a reminder of the power and beauty of both poetry and prose—each with its own role in the storyteller’s craft. Like Gil Thorpe, poetry offers a quick but satisfying glimpse into a world of beauty and truth, while prose is the journey that allows us to explore and reflect. Let us use both forms with purpose and wisdom, understanding their unique gifts and contributions to the art of storytelling.