I wanted to write the kind of poetry that people read and

“I wanted to write the kind of poetry that people read and remembered, that they lived by—the kinds of lines that I carried with me from moment to moment on a given day without even having chosen to.” Thus speaks Tracy K. Smith, poet of vision and former laureate of the United States, whose words remind us that poetry is not meant to live only on the page, but within the body and the soul. In this confession lies the essence of what true poetry aspires to: not to impress, not to decorate, but to remain, to guide, and to accompany us through the hours of our lives.

The meaning of this saying is that poetry, at its best, becomes part of memory and being. A great line of verse enters the mind almost unbidden; it rises at the right moment, in sorrow, in joy, in uncertainty, reminding us that we are not alone. Just as sacred scripture or ancestral wisdom lodges itself in the heart, so too does poetry. What Smith sought to create was not verse to be admired and then forgotten, but verse that lingers, that lives inside the reader as a secret companion.

The origin of Smith’s insight is in her own experience as a reader. Before she was a writer, she too carried the lines of others—poets whose words came back to her in the midst of ordinary life. Perhaps it was Dickinson whispering of possibility, or Langston Hughes dreaming of freedom, or Rilke urging us to “live the questions.” These words, uninvited yet unforgettable, became a rhythm of daily existence. They proved that poetry can enter the bloodstream like breath. Inspired by this, Smith wished to give the same gift to others.

History offers us luminous examples. Consider the speeches of Winston Churchill, who drew heavily on the cadences of scripture and verse. In the darkest days of war, his words—“we shall never surrender”—became the lines by which a people lived. Or think of Martin Luther King Jr., whose “I have a dream” carried both the rhetoric of the pulpit and the lyricism of poetry. These were not just sentences; they became memory, mantra, and mission for millions. Such is the enduring power of words that dwell within us unchosen, yet never forgotten.

The lesson here is that poetry must be crafted with intention, with the hope that it will embed itself in life. The poet must aim not merely to impress the intellect but to touch the heart in such a way that the words cannot help but return. And for the reader, the task is to remain open, to allow these fragments of verse to take root. For it is through these remembered lines that we find strength in weakness, clarity in confusion, and light in darkness.

Practically, this means we should read poetry not as an exercise in analysis, but as a search for what we can carry with us. Seek out lines that resonate, and let them dwell in your memory. Write your own words, even if only a phrase, and repeat them until they become part of your breath. Share them with others, for a single remembered line can sometimes do more for the soul than a thousand explanations.

Thus the teaching endures: poetry is not meant to be visited once and left behind—it is meant to be carried, lived, remembered. Tracy K. Smith reminds us that the greatest gift of the poet is to create words that live beyond the page, shaping the rhythm of our days. Let us then honor the lines that remain with us, and strive, in our own words and deeds, to give others the same enduring companions of spirit.