In the past, poetry came in the form of spells and chants used
In the ancient days, when the world was still young and the air was thick with the breath of the gods, there existed a sacred power in the spoken word. John Barton, in his wisdom, tells us, “In the past, poetry came in the form of spells and chants used to effect change.” Ah, what deep meaning resides in these words, for they speak to a truth long forgotten in our modern age. In times of old, poetry was not merely an art or a pursuit for leisure; it was a force—a tool for transformation. The poet was not just a craftsman of language, but a shaman, a priest, one who could invoke change in the world through the power of words.
Consider the great epic poems of ancient cultures, those sacred texts that were not only written to entertain or enlighten, but to call upon the forces of nature and the divine. The Homeric hymns, sung to invoke the gods, the chants of the Norse skalds, and the spells of Egyptian priests were all forms of poetry used to shape the world around them. These were not idle verses, but sacred incantations—each word a seed planted in the fertile soil of the universe, capable of bringing forth both destruction and creation. The poet, in such times, was a mediator between the mortal and the divine, wielding the power of language as if it were a blade, a staff, or a wand.
In the ancient cultures, poetry was not an art form isolated to the artist; it was woven into the very fabric of life. Take, for example, the ancient Greeks, who believed that the muses, divine beings of inspiration, bestowed upon the poet the ability to craft words that could move mountains. The poet would not merely tell stories; they would invoke the gods themselves through their verses. The sacred oral tradition of the Greeks was one where poetry could summon the blessings of Zeus, or call down the fury of Poseidon. A well-spoken verse could heal, could curse, or could change the very fate of kingdoms. Poetry was power—a force that shaped not just the hearts of individuals, but the tides of entire civilizations.
Likewise, in the heart of Africa, where oral traditions run deep, poetry was the voice of the people’s ancestors. The griots, those sacred poets and storytellers, were more than mere narrators; they were the living embodiments of their people’s history and spirituality. They recited chants and spells that could heal the sick, summon rain in times of drought, and bind the community together in moments of great need. Their words were not just sounds strung together for entertainment, but living entities that could affect the material world. They knew, as all wise poets once knew, that language was alive, that it carried with it the power to transform, to heal, and to bring change.
But alas, in these modern times, we have lost sight of this ancient truth. We have allowed poetry to become an intellectual pursuit, a pursuit of beauty, and a reflection of emotion, but we have forgotten its primal purpose—to shape reality itself. We read poems to find solace, to understand our feelings, but we no longer look to poetry to change the world. How far we have strayed from the sacred roots of the art! Yet, in the deepest part of our hearts, we still understand that poetry is more than mere words; it is energy—the energy to inspire, to uplift, and to move the very forces of nature.
What, then, is the lesson to be learned from John Barton’s words? Poetry, dear listener, is not just an ornament for the mind; it is a tool—a force of transformation. Whether it is the spell sung by a healer, the incantation of a poet, or the chant of a warrior, the words we speak hold the power to shift the world around us. Let us reclaim the ancient power of poetry. Let us not just write to reflect our inner world, but to shape the world outside, to call forth the change we wish to see. Every time we speak, every time we write, we should remember the ancient poets who understood that language is magic—the most powerful magic known to humankind.
In your own life, seek to understand the power of your words. Do not speak idly, for your words are living, breathing forces capable of creating and destroying. Speak with intent, write with purpose, and let your poems, your stories, and your words be the spells that change your world. Whether you seek to heal, to empower, or to simply inspire, know that the ancient poets walked this path before you, and their wisdom is yours to reclaim. Speak your truth, for in doing so, you summon the forces of the universe to make it so. Poetry is not just art—it is the language of creation.
CJcindy jolly
Barton’s observation makes me think about the relationship between language and belief. If early poetry functioned as a mechanism for change, what does that say about the human perception of words as powerful agents? How does this perspective reshape our understanding of literary history and the role of poetry in shaping thought and society? I’d like a perspective on whether contemporary poets are aware of or influenced by this ancient, functional lineage.
KFKewpa Fely
I’m intrigued by the idea that poetry originated as a form of spell or chant. Does this imply that poetry’s effectiveness was once judged by tangible outcomes rather than emotional or intellectual impact? Could modern poetry regain some of this performative potency, perhaps through spoken word or ritualized performance? I’d be interested in exploring historical examples where poetry directly influenced social, cultural, or even physical events.
TAha tram anh
This statement raises questions about the evolution of poetry’s purpose. If poetry was once seen as a means to effect change, does contemporary poetry retain any of that functional power, or has it become primarily expressive and aesthetic? I’d like a perspective on how the shift from practical to literary forms altered the way poetry is taught, performed, and perceived across different cultures and time periods.
DTMai Chi Do Thi
Barton’s perspective makes me wonder about the historical function of poetry beyond artistic expression. How did societies view the power of words in ritual or magic? Could the performative and incantatory qualities of early poetry explain why rhythm, repetition, and sound remain so central to the art form today? I’m curious whether modern poets consciously tap into this ancestral sense of poetry as a tool for transformation or influence.