It is the timber of poetry that wears most surely, and there is
It is the timber of poetry that wears most surely, and there is no timber that has not strong roots among the clay and worms.
Hear now the words of John Millington Synge, who speaks of the true nature of poetry: “It is the timber of poetry that wears most surely, and there is no timber that has not strong roots among the clay and worms.” In these words, Synge points to a profound truth about the essence of poetry—that its strength and endurance come not from superficial beauty, but from its deep roots, its connection to the raw, often difficult, parts of life. The timber of poetry, that which gives it substance and longevity, is grounded in the earth, in the struggles and sufferings of human existence. It is only through these deep, sometimes uncomfortable, connections to the clay and worms of the world that poetry can endure and remain relevant, weathering the passing of time.
The ancients understood this idea well. Homer, in his epic poems, speaks not only of the triumphs of gods and heroes but also of the inevitable suffering, loss, and struggle that all must endure. The Greek heroes, while mighty and revered, are not without their flaws, their doubts, and their inevitable deaths. Homer’s works resonate because they are rooted in the very human condition—immortalizing not just the grandeur, but also the pain, of life. Just as Homer’s poetry has withstood the test of time, so too does Synge’s insight about poetry: it is not only the beautiful, the idealized, that endures—it is the raw, the grounded, the deeply rooted experiences that give poetry its true power.
Similarly, consider the great Irish poets like William Butler Yeats, who, though inspired by the romantic and the ideal, also grounded his work in the real struggles of his people. Yeats’ poetry was deeply influenced by the political unrest of Ireland, by the tumult of history, and by the very soil that his ancestors tilled. His poems do not float above the earth—they are rooted in the daily struggles of a people striving for identity, independence, and understanding. Yeats, like Synge, understood that poetry must connect to the earth, to the soil, to the pain and suffering that form the very basis of human experience.
Synge’s words are especially resonant when we look at the enduring power of the Irish dramas he wrote, which portrayed the struggles of ordinary people in an extraordinary way. His plays, like The Playboy of the Western World, confront the hard realities of rural life in Ireland, with all its violence, passion, and yearning. These plays, grounded in the realities of the Irish landscape and the inner workings of the human heart, continue to stir audiences because they do not shy away from the hard truths of life. The poetry and drama of Synge are not about escaping into idealized worlds, but about facing the gritty, sometimes painful, truth of the human condition. His poetry has the same strength as the sturdy timber he speaks of, built from the deepest parts of the earth.
The lesson Synge imparts is one of depth and authenticity. Poetry that is grounded in truth, that connects with the struggles, the clay and worms of life, is the poetry that endures. Timber that grows from the earth, from the experience of suffering and growth, will stand the test of time, while poetry that is only concerned with surface beauty or idealism will eventually wear thin. Poetry, like the strongest wood, must have its roots firmly planted in reality—the reality of human emotions, relationships, and struggles. Without these roots, poetry becomes fragile, easily eroded by time, unable to withstand the weight of history or the trials of life.
Practical actions follow. If you are a poet, seek to root your words in the real, in the difficult and the beautiful parts of life. Write from a place of truth, and do not be afraid to explore the darker, more challenging parts of the human experience. The best poetry does not shy away from the hard realities—it embraces them, knowing that only through this can true beauty and lasting meaning emerge. If you are a reader, seek out poetry that feels deeply authentic, that connects with the struggles and triumphs of life. Appreciate poetry not only for its beauty but for the truth it expresses about the world.
Thus, Synge’s words guide us in understanding that poetry is more than just words—it is an expression of life itself, rooted in the soil of human experience. Like timber, it must be sturdy, enduring, and deeply connected to the earth. By seeking to create poetry that speaks from the heart of human reality, we honor the tradition of those who have come before us, whose works stand as monuments to the strength and resilience of the human spirit.
KLKhanh Lam
This statement fascinates me because it links art’s durability to its connection with the natural and the imperfect. Synge seems to reject the idea of poetry as something purely ideal or detached. Instead, he roots it—literally—in the dirt of existence. I wonder if he’s arguing that poetry must embrace mortality and struggle to be real. Perhaps the strength of a poem lies in its honesty about where it comes from.
LNLin Na
There’s such a raw wisdom in this line. Synge’s metaphor reminds me that poetry’s longevity isn’t about polish but about truth—the kind that comes from life’s messier parts. The mention of ‘clay and worms’ suggests mortality and humility, yet also fertility. Could he be saying that decay itself feeds creativity? I think he’s pointing to the paradox that poetry’s beauty grows from what is most earthly and impermanent.
TPDang Toan Pham
This quote really resonates with me because it ties artistic endurance to something primal. Synge seems to imply that poetry that endures isn’t delicate—it’s nourished by the same soil and mortality that sustain all life. I love that image of roots gripping the clay. It makes me think about how even the most elevated art depends on the physical and emotional grit of human experience to remain meaningful.
HHHoa Huy
I find this metaphor incredibly powerful—Synge seems to suggest that poetry’s lasting strength comes from its connection to raw, earthly realities. The idea that beauty and endurance grow out of ‘clay and worms’ feels both humbling and profound. Do you think he means that great poetry must always be rooted in human struggle and decay? It makes me wonder if purity or refinement in art weakens its staying power.