I see no reason for calling my work poetry except that there is
I see no reason for calling my work poetry except that there is no other category in which to put it.
Marianne Moore, seer of words and gatherer of strange treasures, once confessed: “I see no reason for calling my work poetry except that there is no other category in which to put it.” These words are not an act of dismissal but a revelation of humility and defiance. For Moore knew that the boundaries of poetry are fragile, that its spirit is not easily confined to rules or forms, and that true art often escapes the cages in which men would place it. She speaks as one who has touched the unnamable and returned with fragments of it in her hands.
The origin of this quote is found in Moore’s devotion to truth over tradition. She was a modernist poet, but she stood apart from her contemporaries, weaving lines that defied ordinary rhythm, mixing observation with philosophy, and turning the common into the sublime. She did not bend herself to the shape of “poetry” as others defined it. Rather, she allowed her work to grow wild, like ivy climbing beyond the walls, until it became something that could not be neatly classified. Yet the world, needing a name, called it poetry, because there was no other vessel large enough to contain her spirit.
In this way, Moore joins the ranks of all visionaries who were not recognized in their time for what they truly were. Consider Leonardo da Vinci, whose genius could not be confined to painting alone, nor to science, nor to engineering. His notebooks spilled with inventions, diagrams, poems, and philosophies—none fitting neatly into the categories men had prepared. Was he artist, scientist, or prophet? The truth is that he was all, and more. Like Moore, he revealed that the greatest works often transcend names, and that to label them is only to admit the poverty of language.
What Moore teaches us, then, is that poetry is not merely a form—it is a force. It is that which leaps beyond the borders of what can be measured, that which pulls the soul toward beauty and truth in unexpected ways. If her work does not fit in any category, it is because life itself is not confined to categories. The dew on a spider’s web, the cry of a bird in fog, the sudden memory of childhood—all of these escape definition, yet all can be caught in the net of a poem. And so she places her work where it belongs—not because it fits, but because the human heart needs a name for wonder.
The power of her words is also a challenge. They remind us that greatness is often misunderstood, that the truest creations may seem strange or awkward at first glance. The prophets of every age were mocked; the inventors were doubted; the artists were told their visions were “not art.” But the measure of worth is not conformity—it is the echo that lingers in the soul. To live creatively is to accept that one’s work may not fit into the ready-made boxes of the world, yet still to bring it forth with courage.
The lesson is clear: do not fear if your work, your calling, or even your life does not fit into the names others assign. Categories are human tools, but your spirit is divine, and it will spill over whatever vessel men try to pour it into. You are not bound by their definitions. Rather, you are called to create something so alive that it shatters them. Be willing, like Moore, to accept the awkwardness of being unclassifiable. For what the world cannot name, it cannot easily dismiss.
In practice, let this wisdom guide you: when you create, do not measure your work by how it fits, but by how it speaks. Write, paint, build, live as though the form were secondary and the spirit primary. Read widely, observe deeply, and let the strange beauty of life inform your craft. If others cannot name what you are, let them at least say: “There is no other place to put this but among the great works of the human heart.”
Thus, Marianne Moore’s confession becomes a testament of freedom. Poetry is not the narrow road of tradition but the boundless field of discovery. To follow her example is to live with the courage to exceed categories, to create not for labels but for truth. And in the end, your life itself may be the poem no one can define, but all can recognize as something that belongs to eternity.
AT6a5 Hoang Anh Thu
Moore’s statement seems to point out that the distinction between poetry and other forms of writing is often subjective. If there’s no other category for her work, then poetry is just a convenient label. But is this a challenge to the idea that poetry should have specific characteristics, or is it a reflection on how art constantly evolves and resists rigid categorization? What does this mean for how we view other genres of creative work?
CCCute Chua
Marianne Moore’s quote about not fitting her work into the poetry category unless there’s no other option makes me think about how we define poetry in the first place. Is poetry just a label, or is there a deeper essence that makes something 'poetry'? Could it be that the boundaries between poetry and other forms of writing are more fluid than we typically acknowledge, allowing for more room for creative expression?
CVChi Vu
Moore’s quote challenges the idea that art must fit into specific categories to be understood. It makes me wonder whether the constraints of traditional labels like 'poetry' restrict the full potential of a work. Should artists be free to create without the pressure of fitting their work into a conventional category, or do labels serve a purpose in helping people understand and appreciate different forms of expression?
LLlinh le
I find Moore’s reflection on the arbitrary nature of categorizing her work as poetry to be quite insightful. It suggests that poetry is often more about form and tradition than actual content. But if categories are so limiting, why do we feel the need to label our creative work at all? Is the label 'poetry' still relevant, or do we risk constraining creative expression by forcing it into predefined molds?
XMDang Xuan Mai
Marianne Moore's statement about not seeing her work as poetry, but rather putting it there because there’s no other place for it, speaks to the fluidity of artistic categories. Does it mean that the label of 'poetry' is somewhat arbitrary? How much of art, especially poetry, is defined by convention rather than its actual content? Could Moore be hinting that true art doesn’t fit neatly into labels, and maybe it shouldn't have to?