I look for poetry in English because it's the only language I

“I look for poetry in English because it’s the only language I read.” Thus speaks Jack Prelutsky, poet of whimsy and wonder, whose words, though lighthearted, conceal a truth that is both humble and profound. For in this simple admission lies a recognition of the bond between language and vision: we seek beauty in the tongue we know, for it is through that tongue that the world first reveals itself to us.

The meaning of this saying rests in the truth that every human heart seeks poetry, but always through the doorway of its own language. Prelutsky, known as the first Children’s Poet Laureate of the United States, declares his search plainly: he looks for poetry in English, not because English alone has it, but because it is the vessel he has been given, the medium through which his imagination flows. What he teaches is this: poetry is everywhere, in every tongue, but we each begin in the speech we call home.

The origin of this insight lies in the nature of poetry itself. Poetry is not bound to one people or one nation; it sings in Sanskrit hymns, in the Chinese Book of Songs, in Arabic ghazals, in Spanish ballads, and in African praise chants. Yet each reader, unless trained in many tongues, meets poetry first and most deeply in their native language. For Prelutsky, this was English. And so he testifies that though he reads only in one language, it is enough—for in it he can still find the infinite.

History gives us the story of Homer, whose epics lived in Greek, and for centuries were known only to those who understood that tongue. But when translated into Latin, then into English, German, and countless others, they still carried power. Readers who knew no Greek still found in translation the shadow of Homer’s fire. Yet those who knew the original tongue heard it most vividly. This shows us that while every language can house poetry, we each seek it first in the one language that sings in our blood.

The lesson is not one of limitation, but of encouragement. Prelutsky reminds us that you do not need to know many languages to experience the wonder of poetry. If you know only one, begin there. Do not despise the narrowness of your reading; within a single tongue lies a universe. English alone contains Shakespeare and Dickinson, Hughes and Frost, Angelou and Eliot. To read deeply in one language is to dive into endless seas of imagination.

Yet there is also a call to humility here. We should remember that our own language is not the whole world. Others too have their epics, their songs, their revelations, in tongues we do not know. We may honor these by translation, by openness, by recognizing that what we call poetry is one branch of a vast and eternal tree. Prelutsky’s confession is both a comfort—that one language is enough—and a challenge—that the human hunger for poetry is larger than any single tongue.

Thus the teaching endures: seek poetry wherever you are, in the language you know, for it is through that language that the creator of words has given you sight. And if your eyes fall upon translations, honor them too, knowing that every tongue holds its treasures. Prelutsky’s voice reminds us that to begin with what we have is enough. For in one language faithfully explored, we may find not only beauty, but eternity itself.