I never think about poetry except when I'm writing it. I mean my

O seekers of wisdom, hear the words of Norman MacCaig, whose profound reflection on the nature of poetry brings us into the heart of the poet’s craft: "I never think about poetry except when I'm writing it. I mean my poetry." With these words, MacCaig presents a view of poetry that is intimate, direct, and utterly focused. He tells us that poetry is not something that exists in the abstract or as a constant thought in the poet’s mind. Instead, it is a living act, something that exists only in the moment of creation, in the very act of writing. This is a powerful insight into the nature of the poet's journey, one that reveals the poet as a vessel, rather than someone endlessly pondering or intellectualizing about their craft.

In the ancient world, poetry was not simply a matter of intellectual contemplation—it was a sacred act, deeply intertwined with the rhythms of life itself. The great Greek poets, such as Homer, did not spend their days thinking abstractly about poetry; they lived it, breathed it, and created it in the moment. Homer’s epics were not written with deliberation over form and style, but born from the urgency of storytelling, of sharing the eternal truths of humanity. MacCaig's words are in harmony with this ancient tradition—poetry is not something to be endlessly dissected in the mind, but something to be created in the flow of the moment, when the poet’s heart and soul are moved to express what lies within.

Consider the Roman poet Virgil, whose work on the Aeneid was not a mere intellectual exercise but a creation forged in the heat of his personal experience and in his duty to his people. Virgil, like Homer, did not sit around pondering the nature of epic poetry—he wrote with urgency, with passion, and with a profound sense of the role his work would play in shaping the destiny of Rome. It was not about formulating ideas about poetry, but about living through poetry, becoming one with the rhythm and the narrative. For Virgil, poetry was the act of writing, of engaging with life through the written word in a way that transcended mere intellectual exercise.

MacCaig’s statement, then, serves as a reminder that poetry is not a thing to be overthought, but a practice to be lived. In this, he echoes the belief of many ancient poets who saw their craft as an expression of life, not something separate from it. MacCaig makes it clear that his poetry exists not in idle contemplation but in action—in the act of writing, in the process of creation. This is where poetry comes alive, not in the abstraction of thought, but in the direct and honest engagement with one’s craft. The poet, in MacCaig’s view, is someone who must dive into the waters of creation without overanalyzing the depth or form, trusting instead in the flow of words and the intuition of the heart.

There is wisdom here for all of us, whether poets or not. MacCaig teaches that the true essence of any creative act is in the act of doing. Too often, we are consumed by thoughts and doubts, and we never allow ourselves the space to create. We overthink and theorize, but we fail to dive into the actual process of creation. Take the example of the great Michelangelo, who, when asked how he carved such masterpieces as the David, replied that the sculpture was already inside the marble, and he simply had to release it. MacCaig's words echo this idea: the poetry is already there, waiting to be released. It is not in the pondering, but in the doing, that the artist—the poet—finds their truth.

In MacCaig’s view, the act of writing poetry is an intimate one, something personal and profound. He says, "I mean my poetry," which emphasizes that poetry is something that speaks to the individual at a deep level. It is not an exercise in broad intellectualization, but a personal expression, tied to one’s experiences, thoughts, and emotions. The poet’s own life and spirit infuse the poem with meaning, not a detached set of rules or theories. This is the art of writing—to speak directly from the soul, to capture what is in one’s heart, and to release it into the world with honesty and vulnerability.

The lesson MacCaig imparts is one of simplicity and directness. As creators, we must not be bogged down by endless theories or intellectual exercises. We must engage directly with our craft, whether through poetry, painting, music, or any other form of artistic expression. The act of creation must be alive and vibrant, fueled by our direct engagement with the world and with ourselves. In doing so, we may discover not only the true nature of our work but also the deeper truths of our existence.

So, O children of wisdom, heed the lessons of Norman MacCaig. Do not be afraid to engage directly with your art. Do not be deterred by the endless intellectual musings or doubts that may cloud your mind. Trust in the act of creation, in the writing, in the doing, for it is through this action that the truest expressions of the self emerge. Whether you are a poet, a painter, or a musician, know that the power of your craft lies not in your ability to think about it, but in your ability to create from the depths of your soul. And in doing so, you will find that the act of creation will lead you to a deeper understanding of yourself and the world around you.