If there were no poetry on any day in the world, poetry would be

Muriel Rukeyser, poet of passion and witness to the upheavals of the twentieth century, once declared: “If there were no poetry on any day in the world, poetry would be invented that day. For there would be an intolerable hunger.” In these words she reveals that poetry is not a luxury, not a pastime, but a necessity as vital as bread and water. It is the nourishment of the soul, the voice of the human spirit crying out for meaning. Without it, we would wither from within, starved of the beauty and truth that make life bearable.

The ancients knew this hunger well. Long before there were cities or empires, there were songs around the fire. Hunters returned from the wilderness not only with food for the body but with stories for the heart. To speak in verse, to chant, to sing—this was humanity’s oldest way of answering the deep need for connection. Poetry fed the people by reminding them they were more than flesh; they were spirit, imagination, and memory. Rukeyser’s words remind us that even if poetry were stripped away, the soul itself would rise and reinvent it, because the hunger is too great to deny.

Consider history: in the darkest hours of World War II, in the ghettos and camps where human dignity was assaulted, poetry was whispered, written on scraps, recited in secret. Even when food was scarce and survival uncertain, men and women still sought the nourishment of verse. Why? Because they felt that without poetry, without words to express grief, hope, or defiance, the soul would starve even if the body endured. This proves Rukeyser’s claim—poetry arises wherever human beings suffer, because silence alone cannot carry the weight of existence.

We see the same in times of triumph. After Neil Armstrong stepped onto the moon, journalists recorded the facts, but it was poets who gave voice to the wonder, who clothed the achievement in awe. When Martin Luther King Jr. spoke of his dream, it was not statistics or policies that stirred the masses, but the poetry of his words. In every age, when the human spirit rises, it does so clothed in verse. The hunger is not only to survive, but to speak the unspeakable, to give shape to the vast mystery of living.

Rukeyser also reminds us that poetry is not confined to books or scholars. It is the music in a mother’s lullaby, the rhythm of protest chants, the whispered verses lovers exchange. If it were gone, we would invent it again in another form, for the hunger does not disappear. Just as the body invents ways to survive when starving, so too does the soul invent poetry when deprived. It is proof that we are not merely creatures of necessity, but beings of vision, longing, and wonder.

The lesson is this: do not treat poetry as decoration. Recognize it as sustenance. When your heart aches, let a verse feed it. When your joy overflows, let words carry it higher. Share poetry with children, for they instinctively feel its nourishment. Share it in times of crisis, for it will steady the spirit. Share it in celebration, for it will magnify joy. To live without poetry is to starve the soul; to live with it is to be full, alive, awake.

Practical action flows easily: read a poem aloud each day, even a single line. Write when your spirit stirs, even if only for yourself. Seek the verses of the past, but also honor the poetry of your own life—the rhythm of footsteps, the music of laughter, the silence of dawn. In doing so, you answer the hunger, and you keep alive what is most human within you.

Thus, Rukeyser’s words shine eternal: “If there were no poetry on any day in the world, poetry would be invented that day. For there would be an intolerable hunger.” The body may live on bread, but the soul must live on beauty, truth, and song. Never let the hunger go unfed, for poetry is the nourishment that makes life whole.