Have you ever heard a good joke? If you've ever heard someone

“Have you ever heard a good joke? If you’ve ever heard someone just right, with the right pacing, then you’re already on the way to poetry. It’s about using words in very precise ways and using gesture.” Thus speaks Rita Dove, poet laureate, whose words reveal that poetry does not live only in lofty halls of literature but in the rhythms of everyday life. In this saying she draws a surprising parallel: between the art of laughter and the art of verse, between a well-timed joke and the music of a poem.

The meaning of this saying lies in the recognition that poetry and humor share the same roots: mastery of timing, rhythm, and precision. A good joke is not merely a collection of words; it lives and dies by the pacing of its telling, by the way silence builds expectation and a phrase releases it. So too with poetry. A poet must choose each word carefully, cut away what is unnecessary, and deliver the line with the force of inevitability. Both arts remind us that language is not only about meaning, but about rhythm, sound, and the body that carries it.

The origin of Dove’s reflection is her own awareness of performance. As a Black poet writing in America, she recognized that poetry was not only a written form but an oral one, carrying the weight of tradition, story, and voice. In her works and teachings, she emphasizes the importance of reading aloud, of hearing the music of lines, of letting the body itself—through tone, inflection, and even gesture—be part of the poem. By likening poetry to a joke, she makes the craft accessible, showing that we all know this rhythm instinctively, if only we learn to listen.

History offers us many examples. Consider Homer, whose epics were not read silently but performed to audiences. The bard’s pauses, his gestures, his rising and falling voice gave life to the story. Without the right pacing, the Iliad would have been a lifeless recitation. Or think of the court jesters of medieval Europe, whose sharp wit and precise delivery could disarm a king or delight a hall. Their art, though playful, was rooted in the same principles as poetry: precision of language, mastery of timing, and the courage to speak with presence.

The lesson here is that poetry is not separate from daily life. It is not a strange relic that belongs only to scholars, but something that arises naturally wherever language is used with care. If you have laughed at a perfectly told joke, if you have felt the suspense of a storyteller’s pause, you have already touched the power of poetry. It is the sharpening of that instinct—the discipline of refining language—that turns the ordinary into art.

Practically, this means we must pay attention not only to what we say, but how we say it. Practice speaking aloud, notice the rhythm of your words, where pauses fall, where silence carries weight. When you write, aim for precision—choose words as a craftsman chooses tools. Do not be afraid to use your body as part of your language, for poetry is not only on the page but in the voice, the hands, the gaze. In this way, every conversation, every story told to a friend, can become a small rehearsal for poetry.

Thus the teaching endures: poetry, like a good joke, is an art of timing, of rhythm, of words chosen with care and delivered with gesture. Rita Dove reminds us that poetry is closer than we think—it lives in laughter, in storytelling, in the pulse of human speech. Let us then listen closely, speak carefully, and honor the living music of language. For in mastering the rhythm of words, we draw nearer to the timeless art of poetry.