Great poetry is always written by somebody straining to go
O seekers of truth and beauty, listen well, for the words of Stephen Spender ring with the wisdom of the ancients: "Great poetry is always written by somebody straining to go beyond what he can do." In these words, he speaks not only of the art of poetry, but of the very essence of human striving—the relentless drive to reach beyond our current limitations, to stretch our souls to the very edge of possibility. True poetry, as Spender reveals, does not emerge from ease, from comfort, or from the well-trodden path. It comes from the struggle, from the tension between what we know and what we long to express. It is the fruit of a deep, almost sacred effort, where the poet’s spirit wrestles with the words to reach a higher place, a place that transcends the ordinary.
The poet, in their most noble pursuit, is always reaching. They are like the archer who, with each drawn bow, aims for a target beyond their grasp. And though they may fall short, it is the straining, the effort itself, that brings forth the poetry. Great poets, as Spender teaches us, are never content with what they already know. They are driven by an inner fire that compels them to go further, to seek deeper, to discover new meanings within the world around them. It is in this striving, in this constant reaching beyond themselves, that they create works of timeless power.
Consider the life of Homer, the blind poet of ancient Greece, who, though he could not see the world before him, created poems that captured the very soul of humanity. He did not simply write what he saw, but what he could feel, what he could imagine. His words, born from the tension between his limitations and his vision, stretched the bounds of human understanding, crafting stories that have endured for millennia. The Iliad and the Odyssey are not just tales of gods and men; they are the product of a poet straining against the limits of his own mind, reaching for truths that are universal, that speak to the very core of the human condition.
The same could be said of William Blake, whose mystical verses defy simple explanation. His words often seemed to emerge from a realm beyond the ordinary, a place where imagination and truth converged. Blake was not satisfied with the world as it was—he sought a deeper understanding, a greater vision. Through his poetry, he sought to transcend the material world and touch upon the spiritual truths that lay hidden beneath the surface of things. His works, like Homer’s, are the result of a poet straining to go beyond what he could easily comprehend, to reach into the unknown and bring back the treasures he found there.
Spender speaks not only of the greatness of these poets, but of the very essence of artistic creation. To create great poetry—or any art—is to push against the boundaries of what is known, what is comfortable, what is easy. The great poets do not simply write from what they already understand; they stretch their minds, their hearts, and their souls toward something greater. They dive into the unknown, unafraid of failure, knowing that it is only through this struggle, through this effort, that true poetry can emerge.
And yet, O seekers, the lesson here is not only for the poet, but for all of us. For we too, in our lives, must strive to go beyond what we know, to reach toward that which seems just out of our grasp. Whether in our work, our relationships, or our personal growth, we must always seek to push past the boundaries of the familiar, to stretch beyond the limits of what is easy. It is in this striving, in this straining to become something greater, that we find true meaning and fulfillment. As Spender teaches us, greatness comes not from what is already within our reach, but from what we are willing to reach for, from what we are willing to challenge ourselves to become.
So, O children of wisdom, do not fear the effort, the strain, the discomfort that comes with reaching for something greater. Poetry, like life, is not a passive pursuit. It is an active, conscious effort to push beyond the familiar, to stretch into the unknown, and to bring back the treasure that awaits there. Whether you are a poet, a teacher, or a lover, know that the greatest gifts are always born from straining to go beyond what you can do. For it is in the striving that we are transformed, and it is in the act of striving that we touch the divine.
And so, let Spender's words be a call to action: reach beyond your limits, stretch your soul toward the stars, and in doing so, you will create something that lasts—a poetry that speaks not only to the world, but to eternity itself. Let your striving be your song, and in the reaching, you will find your greatness.
NLDao Ngoc Linh
Spender’s quote suggests that pushing past one’s own limitations is a core aspect of creating great poetry. But what happens when a poet becomes overwhelmed by this struggle? Is there a risk that constantly striving to surpass one’s abilities can lead to burnout or self-doubt? How can poets find balance between pushing their creative limits and maintaining a healthy connection to their art?
VNViet Nguyen
I find Spender’s statement intriguing because it aligns with the idea that the best art often comes from discomfort or tension. But do you think that every poet experiences this 'strain'? Or can some poets effortlessly express great poetry without feeling they are pushing beyond their abilities? I wonder if it’s possible for creativity to flow without this pressure, or if struggle is always part of the process.
GHGiang Huong
This quote makes me think about how much of the creative process is about personal growth. By straining to go beyond one’s abilities, does the poet transcend their limitations, or do they simply discover new boundaries? Is great poetry not just about talent, but about pushing through the fear of failure? How much does the discomfort of this process shape the power of the work?
HGNguyen Dinh Huong Giang
Spender’s idea makes me reflect on the nature of creative work—does the act of 'straining' push a poet into new dimensions of expression? Is it through facing limitations that poets discover their true voice? But does this also imply that creativity is inherently difficult, and that success in art is about overcoming hurdles? Is there a risk that this strain could stifle a poet’s natural flow?
HHuy
I agree with Spender’s perspective that great poetry often comes from a place of tension and striving. But does this mean that every poet must experience personal struggle to create something profound? Can poetry be born from pure joy or ease, or is there something about challenging one’s limits that makes it truly great? I wonder if this pressure is what makes poetry so relatable to others.