I still read Donne, particularly his love poems.

Carol Ann Duffy once confessed, “I still read Donne, particularly his love poems.” At first, it seems a simple statement, but within it lies the echo of centuries, a chain of poets bound by longing, passion, and truth. To say she still reads Donne is to acknowledge that his voice, though born in the 17th century, continues to stir the hearts of those who live in this age of noise. It is a testament to the endurance of beauty, that words forged in candlelit chambers can still pierce through the glass screens and hurried steps of our modern world.

For John Donne, poet and preacher of England’s old days, wrote not merely of love’s sweetness but of its storm, its agony, its fire that consumes and refines. His love poems were no idle songs but living sermons of desire and spirit, where body and soul wove together in a single breath. Carol Ann Duffy, herself a poet laureate, recognizes in Donne a mirror of her own craft—a reminder that the heart of humanity has not changed, though the centuries turn. By returning to him, she does not escape the present, but enriches it, grounding herself in the eternal voice of passion.

The ancients always taught us: that which is truly alive never dies. Consider the tale of Homer’s epics. Thousands of years have passed since he sang of Achilles’ wrath and Odysseus’ longing, yet his verses remain alive, shaping cultures and guiding hearts. So it is with Donne. Though time has stripped away empires and crowned new kings, his poems still whisper of love’s gravity, of the sacred and the carnal entwined. Duffy’s statement reminds us that to touch such poetry is to touch eternity, to converse with the dead who yet live in their words.

Let us not forget that Donne himself was no stranger to paradox. He lived as both sinner and priest, lover and ascetic, man of the flesh and man of God. His works carry the weight of contradictions, teaching us that love is never simple—it is both dagger and balm, storm and haven. By saying she still reads him, Duffy acknowledges that such poems are not mere relics to be admired in silence, but guides, living texts that sharpen the soul and broaden the heart.

And what lesson does this bring to us? It is this: do not neglect the voices of the past, for in them you may find the keys to your own present. Just as Donne’s words reached across centuries to ignite Duffy’s imagination, so too may the words of sages, poets, and thinkers guide us when we falter. The modern world tempts us with the new, the fleeting, the fast, but the soul requires more than novelty—it requires depth, it requires the steady flame of wisdom passed down.

Think of Martin Luther King Jr., who, in his speeches, wove together the words of the prophets, the Founding Fathers, and even poets of old. He did not stand alone but drew strength from the river of voices that came before him. This is the power of returning, again and again, to timeless works. Duffy’s devotion to Donne is no different: it is a declaration that love, beauty, and truth cannot be imprisoned by time.

Therefore, let us act with intention. Choose a poet, a philosopher, a thinker from the ages, and return to them as to a well. Read not once, but often. For every season of your life will reveal a new meaning hidden in the same lines. Let the ancients walk with you. Let their words become your armor and your song.

And remember: to read Donne, as Duffy does, is not merely to admire the past—it is to live more fully in the present. It is to remind ourselves that love, in all its pain and glory, is the force that binds generations together. Carry this wisdom in your heart, and when the world feels shallow, return to the deep waters of those who came before. There you will find strength, beauty, and the eternal flame of the human soul.