If it is an imperfect word, no external circumstance can

"If it is an imperfect word, no external circumstance can heighten its value as poetry." These words by John Drinkwater remind us of an ancient and timeless truth about the nature of poetry: it is not enough for a poem to simply be adorned with circumstances, praise, or external validation. True poetry is not reliant on the circumstances in which it is spoken, nor on the applause or recognition it may receive. Rather, its value comes from its purity, its honesty, and the perfection of its expression. If a word or a line is imperfect, no external force, no matter how grand, can make it worthy of the title of poetry. The heart of poetry lies not in external approval, but in the inner truth it carries, the deep connection it fosters between the poet and the soul of the world.

In the ancient world, the poet was not an entertainer seeking to please the crowd, nor a performer attempting to craft the perfect line for applause. The poet was a seer, a channel for the deeper truths of existence, and the value of their poetry was determined by the authenticity of the message, not by the external approval it garnered. Homer, for instance, did not seek the favor of kings or scholars when he composed the great epics of the Iliad and the Odyssey. His poetry was shaped by the divine, and though it was recited to great audiences, the power of the work lay in its truth, not in its performance. Even if Homer had been disregarded in his time, the eternal resonance of his words would have remained, because poetry does not depend on external validation but on the depth of expression within it.

In Shakespeare’s works, we find a similar truth. The language of his plays, whether it be the tragic beauty of Hamlet or the vibrant joy of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, was imbued with a power that went beyond external circumstances. The true measure of Shakespeare's work was not in the crowns or noble courts that celebrated it, but in the depth of his language—the truths about human nature, love, power, and fate that his words captured. No external praise could have elevated his poetry if it lacked the beauty of expression that Shakespeare’s words carried. Perfection of word and thought, not the circumstance of its performance, gives a poem its immortality.

This is why Drinkwater’s words are so profound. The value of a poem does not lie in its popularity, its fame, or its audience. It lies in the integrity of the expression itself. A word that is imperfect—whether through clumsy syntax, poor choice, or lack of true emotional depth—cannot, no matter how grand the stage or the occasion, be elevated into the realm of true poetry. Poetry is not a product of the external world; it is an internal revelation, an act of communication that arises from the poet's deepest self. If that self is not fully expressed, if the words do not fully capture the truth, then the poem will always fall short, no matter how much fame or adulation it receives.

Consider the haiku, the traditional form of Japanese poetry. In just three lines and seventeen syllables, the poet must capture a moment of insight or emotional resonance—no more, no less. Bash?, one of the greatest haiku masters, did not rely on the recognition of the Emperor or the noble class to validate his poetry. He sought only to express truth in its most distilled form, allowing the simplicity of his words to evoke deep emotional response. Bash?’s haikus, even in their simplicity, contain the power of nature, the changing of seasons, the fleeting moments of life. They are not praised because of the external circumstances in which they were written, but because the language is perfectly attuned to the moment it describes. Even today, centuries later, these poems resonate deeply because they are true—they are not elevated by status or external forces but by their own inherent beauty.

The lesson Drinkwater offers us is simple but vital: poetry is not about impressing others or seeking approval. It is about the truth within the words themselves, the authenticity of expression. A poem must stand on its own, with the beauty of its language, not because of its performance or the praise it receives. When we create, we must not seek external validation, for it will not elevate the imperfect. Instead, we must strive for truth, for the purity of expression that transcends circumstance. This is the true essence of poetry—to capture the raw truth of human experience and communicate it in a way that resonates with the deepest part of the soul.

In our own lives, whether as poets or artists of any kind, let us remember that our art must come from the truth within us. We should not be swayed by external approval or criticism. Instead, we should focus on creating something that is authentic, something that speaks not to the external world but to the inner world. When we write, create, or perform, we should do so because we feel compelled by the truth of the moment, not because we seek recognition. True artistry arises not from external praise but from the purity and integrity of our expression. Only then will our work have lasting value—not because it is perfect in form or execution, but because it carries the truth that we sought to express.