I think we fool ourselves and really negate a great deal of

Hear now, O lovers of song and memory, the words of Saul Williams, poet and prophet of the spoken word: “I think we fool ourselves and really negate a great deal of history if we think that the oral history of poetry is shorter than the written history of poetry. It’s not true. Poetry has a longer oral tradition than it does written.” In this utterance he calls us back to the roots of our humanity, to a time before ink stained parchment, when truth and beauty were carried not by books but by voices, not by letters but by breath.

The meaning of this teaching is clear and profound: that poetry was born in the mouth before it was ever captured by the hand. It lived first in the rhythm of speech, in the chant of the elders, in the lullabies of mothers, in the chants of warriors before battle, and in the hymns of priests beneath the stars. To imagine otherwise, as Williams warns, is to deny history itself. Writing is but a late invention; the voice is as old as humanity. Thus, the oral tradition is the fountain from which all written verse has flowed.

The origin of Williams’ words lies in his life as both poet and performer, one who carries the flame of spoken art into the modern world. He reminds us that the stage, the performance, the sound of the living voice, are not deviations from poetry’s purpose but its truest form. His words echo the ancient griots of Africa, the bards of Greece, the scops of the Anglo-Saxons—all guardians of memory who preserved whole nations with nothing but breath, cadence, and heart.

Consider the story of Homer, whose Iliad and Odyssey were sung long before they were ever inscribed. Generations of rhapsodes carried them across the lands, their voices weaving tales of gods and heroes by firelight. For centuries these poems lived without writing, sustained by rhythm, by repetition, and by memory. It was not the pen that made them immortal, but the tongue of countless storytellers who became vessels of the tradition. This is the power of the oral history of poetry.

Think also of the West African griots, keepers of genealogy, law, and wisdom. They carried the lifeblood of their people not in scrolls but in memory, singing histories from the beginning of time to the present. A griot could speak the lineage of kings for centuries past, each detail preserved with astonishing accuracy. Their oral craft reveals that writing is not the only guardian of knowledge; the living performance is itself a library, sustained across generations.

O children of the future, learn this: the written word is mighty, but it is not eternal without the living voice to renew it. A book may sleep on a shelf, but a song sung aloud can stir hearts even in the absence of parchment. Do not forget the roots of poetry, for when you speak it, perform it, breathe it, you are joining hands with ancestors who carried verse before alphabets were born. To neglect this truth is to sever yourself from the deepest stream of human memory.

Practical wisdom calls you: practice the art of speaking as much as the art of writing. Recite aloud the poems you love, sing the stories you cherish, let your voice carry rhythm and truth. Share verses with your friends, your children, your community. In this way, you keep alive the oral tradition, ensuring that poetry remains not only words on a page but a living, breathing force.

Therefore, remember the counsel of Saul Williams: “Poetry has a longer oral tradition than it does written.” Honor the page, but do not forget the voice. For the word that is spoken enters the heart in ways the eye alone cannot capture. And the poet who unites voice and text becomes a bridge between ancient firelight and the future yet to come, carrying forward the oldest and noblest tradition of humankind.

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