Instead of trying to come up and pontificate on what literature

Hear the wise counsel of Rita Dove, who declared: “Instead of trying to come up and pontificate on what literature is, you need to talk with children, to teachers, and make sure they get poetry in the curriculum early.” In these words burns both humility and urgency. She warns against lofty debates that circle endlessly like smoke in the air, detached from the soil of life. True literature is not born in arguments of definition, but in the hands and hearts of the young, when their ears are first opened to the rhythm of language and their imaginations quickened by the breath of verse.

The ancients knew this truth long before. In the schools of Athens, boys recited Homer by heart, not to argue what “literature” was, but to let the cadence of the Iliad and the Odyssey shape their souls. In China, children learned the poetry of the Tang before they could wield brush or sword, for it was believed that to know a poem was to know one’s humanity. The wisdom of the elders was passed not in lectures about form or theory, but in songs and stories told at dawn and dusk. So Dove calls us back to that ancient path: to plant poetry early, like seed in young soil, before cynicism and distraction take root.

Consider the story of Frederick Douglass, who, as a child in slavery, was forbidden from learning to read. Yet he hungered for words, catching scraps of knowledge where he could, and when at last he mastered language, it became the sword of his freedom. Had literature—had poetry—been placed in his hands earlier, how much more swiftly might his spirit have been unbound? His story reveals the power of early encounter with words, and the tragedy when such gifts are withheld.

Dove also reminds us that the guardians of this treasure are not scholars in their towers, but teachers in their classrooms, and the children who listen with wonder. To bring poetry into their daily lives is not mere decoration; it is to train them in empathy, imagination, and courage. For a child who learns to see the world through metaphor will not grow into an adult who sees only profit and loss. A nation that places poetry in the mouths of its young will raise citizens who remember beauty even in times of trial.

Yet how often do we, in our pride, forget this? Too many waste breath in conferences, declaring what art “ought” to be, while the classrooms remain bare of song. Too many exalt the critic’s voice while the child’s ear grows empty. Dove pierces through such vanity: better to bring one poem into one child’s heart than to win a thousand debates about “what literature is.” The living seed matters more than the lifeless definition.

The lesson for us is urgent. If we would preserve culture, if we would nurture wisdom, then we must not delay. Place poetry early in the lives of the young. Let them memorize a stanza as they might a prayer; let them recite aloud so the rhythm becomes breath. Encourage teachers, who are the priests of language in our time, to carry this sacred flame. Do not starve the young of beauty, for once starved, their spirits may never recover.

Practical actions are clear. Parents: read poems to your children at night. Teachers: weave verses into daily lessons, not as burdens but as gifts. Communities: make space for readings, festivals, and contests where children may speak words older and larger than themselves. And individuals: carry a poem in your heart and share it freely, for you may plant in another a seed that grows for a lifetime.

Thus Rita Dove speaks not as theorist, but as prophet of renewal. She reminds us that the future of literature does not lie in ivory towers but in the laughter and voices of the young. Let us, then, heed her words: abandon idle pontification, and instead place the fire of poetry into the hands of children and teachers, that the flame may burn bright for generations yet unborn.