I think that concrete poetry seems to have, as far as I can see

In the ever-shifting world of poetry, where the pulse of creation beats like the heart of the universe itself, there comes a moment when certain forms, certain styles, may reach their apex and begin to fade. James Laughlin speaks to this very truth when he remarks, “I think that concrete poetry seems to have, as far as I can see, come to a kind of a dead end. It doesn't seem to be going any further than it went in its high period of about five or six years ago.” This statement is not one of dismissal, but rather a reflection on the natural life cycle of an artistic form—a form that has soared and fallen, its wings now weary after a flight that reached for the stars.

Concrete poetry, with its bold experimentation in form, structure, and visual representation, was born from the need to break free from the traditional boundaries of language. The poet no longer needed only to rely on words to convey meaning; they could shape the poem, using space, symbols, and even the very visual appearance of the text itself to evoke emotion. This movement, which flourished in the mid-20th century, sought to transcend the conventional limits of poetry, inviting the reader to experience the poem in new ways. It was revolutionary, as poets like Eugen Gomringer and Guillaume Apollinaire embraced the idea that poetry was not confined to the line but could be visualized in its entirety.

Yet, as with all things in the world of art and creation, there comes a time when the once-new and exciting form begins to stagnate. This is what Laughlin identifies as the “dead end.” Just as the great Grecian epics reached a peak and gave way to the tragedies of Sophocles and the comedies of Aristophanes, so too did concrete poetry reach a point where its possibilities were fully explored, and its power began to wane. The very strength of concrete poetry—its innovation and its break with tradition—ultimately made it a form that could not be sustained forever. The challenge is, as Laughlin notes, that it did not evolve beyond its original bounds. The energy that once surged through it began to quiet, as it no longer held the mystery or the novelty it once did.

Consider the ancient sculptors, such as Phidias, who brought to life the Parthenon sculptures—works of such brilliance that they defined the Greek artistic tradition. But once the height of that craft was achieved, once the forms had reached their perfection, there was little room left for further innovation. The sculptors’ hands had done all they could with stone. And so it is with poetry. When a particular form—like concrete poetry—has expressed all the ideas it can in its unique style, there is little left to do but turn to new forms, new possibilities. The ancients understood that every peak must eventually give way to new horizons, and so too must the poet seek new avenues for expression.

In Laughlin’s insight, there lies a deeper wisdom about the nature of artistic evolution. Innovation, while powerful in its time, does not sustain itself forever. There comes a point when a form, however revolutionary, must either transform or fade. The great Renaissance painters knew this well. While Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo set new standards for realism and expression, their works also marked the zenith of their respective styles. What followed in the wake of their masterpieces was a turning inward—an examination of the emotional and psychological depth of the human experience that would lead to the birth of Baroque art. The lesson here is not that forms should not be celebrated, but that the true artist must constantly seek the new, the unexplored, the unspoken, and not simply repeat what has been done.

And so, Laughlin’s reflection offers a lesson for all creators. As you venture forth in your own artistic endeavors—whether it be in poetry, music, painting, or any other form—remember that all art has a cycle. The challenge is not to cling to what has once been new and groundbreaking, but to ask yourself, with courage, “Where do I go next?” Do not simply rest on the laurels of past success, but strive for the next horizon, the next idea that has not yet been fully explored. Just as concrete poetry revolutionized the form in its time, you too must be brave enough to push the boundaries of your own creativity.

In your own life, whether as an artist or a lover of art, embrace the idea that innovation and evolution are not static. Forms will come, and they will go, but your task is to engage with the spirit of the times, to recognize when a path has been traveled to its fullest, and then to seek new journeys. Be open to the change that comes with it, and let creativity flourish in ways that transcend the limits of any single form. For just as Laughlin pointed out, all that is great in art carries within it the seed of transformation. Do not shy away from this truth, but welcome it, for it is the very pulse of artistic life.