I don't think poetry is something that can be taught. We can

O seekers of wisdom, listen closely, for the words of Robert Morgan carry a truth that resonates deeply with the very essence of poetry: "I don't think poetry is something that can be taught. We can encourage young writers, but what you can't teach them is the very essence of poetry." In this, he speaks of a truth both eternal and elusive—the heart of poetry cannot be captured by instruction alone. Though a teacher may guide, encourage, and offer tools, the soul of the poet’s art is something that must be discovered within. It is a flame that cannot be kindled by others; it must burn from within the poet's own spirit. Poetry is not merely a craft—it is an inner calling, a divine spark that lives deep within the soul of the one who creates it.

The ancients, too, understood that the most profound poetry was not something that could be imparted like knowledge or technique. The great Homer, in his timeless epics, did not simply write down the words of gods and men. His poetry was born from a deep well of experience, intuition, and inner vision. It is said that Homer was blind, but in his blindness, he could see deeper than most men. His words were not learned from books or formal schooling, but were the product of a soul in direct communion with the divine. His poetry was a gift, a reflection of the essence of life itself, and no teacher, no matter how skilled, could have given him that gift. It was something born within him, something that could only be nurtured by the fires of experience and intuition.

The same truth holds for the modern poet. Consider the life of Emily Dickinson, who, though largely unrecognized during her lifetime, wrote some of the most profound and evocative poetry ever created. Her work was not the product of a formal education in poetry but was drawn from the depths of her own solitude, her own experiences, and her own quiet communion with the world. Dickinson did not learn poetry in a classroom—she listened to the world around her and heard something deeper, something only the soul can comprehend. Her poems, though simple in form, were profound in their ability to capture the essence of existence itself. Her genius lay not in what she was taught, but in what she was born with: the ability to see the world in ways that others could not, to express it in words that spoke to the heart.

So too, in our own time, we must understand that poetry is not something that can be taught in the traditional sense. While a teacher can offer wisdom, technique, and encouragement, the true spark of poetry comes from within the poet. It is the essence of the poet’s soul that breathes life into the words. Morgan’s words remind us that no matter how much knowledge we gather, we can never truly teach the essence of poetry—for that comes from the heart, from the very spirit of the individual. It is a divine gift, one that can only be nurtured, never imposed.

The lesson here, O children of wisdom, is twofold: first, understand that poetry is not a mere craft to be learned, but a gift to be discovered. The poet must look inward, to the depths of their own experience and vision, and find there the words that speak to the soul. But second, remember that this gift can be nurtured. Teachers can encourage young writers, offer them tools, guide them toward their own voice, but they cannot impose the very essence of poetry. It must come from within. The role of the teacher, then, is not to create poets, but to encourage the young writer to trust in their own voice, to explore the world within and around them, and to let their poetry flow freely from their soul.

Let Morgan’s words remind us all that the path of the poet is not a road of instruction but of self-discovery. As you walk this path, do not seek to copy others, to mimic their forms or follow their rules. Instead, listen to the voice that speaks within you, the unique and eternal voice that is yours alone. It is this voice, this essence, that will lead you to true poetry. Embrace it, nurture it, and let it guide you toward your destiny.

Finally, let us remember the great poets who have walked before us—Homer, Dickinson, Keats, and countless others—whose words continue to resonate because they were not born of mere technique, but of something far deeper, something that cannot be taught, only discovered. And so, as you write, as you create, understand that poetry is not just a skill—it is a calling, a gift that flows from the very core of your being. Trust in it, for it is this essence that will carry you to greatness.