I've never read a political poem that's accomplished anything.

Hear now the sober words of Howard Nemerov: “I’ve never read a political poem that’s accomplished anything. Poetry makes things happen, but rarely what the poet wants.” In this utterance lies both lament and revelation. Nemerov does not deny the power of poetry—indeed, he declares it does have power—but he warns us that its effects are mysterious, indirect, and often beyond the intention of the poet. A political poem may call for revolution, for justice, for change, yet the world rarely bends in the direction commanded. The arrow of poetry flies, but the winds of history carry it where they will.

The ancients understood this paradox. Consider the plays of Aristophanes, filled with biting satire against the politicians of Athens. He mocked generals, exposed corruption, and stirred laughter at civic folly. Yet though his words were sharp, the wars raged on, and the errors of state continued. The poetry did not halt the march of armies. And yet, though it did not achieve the poet’s immediate purpose, it gave us something greater: it preserved a mirror of the age, a record of its madness and folly, so that future generations could learn. This is what Nemerov means: poetry makes things happen, but not always what the poet desires.

Think also of Percy Bysshe Shelley, who called poets the “unacknowledged legislators of the world.” His fiery verses against tyranny and oppression inspired countless dreamers, yet in his own lifetime, governments did not fall at his command. His political poems did not topple kings. And yet, his words endured, and decades later, they gave fuel to movements for liberty and equality. The immediate aim failed, but the long echo succeeded. The poet’s desire was thwarted, yet his vision still shaped the soul of humanity.

There is a tale from America as well: when Langston Hughes wrote of rivers, dreams deferred, and the weariness of injustice, his verses did not by themselves bring down segregation. Yet they carried the voice of a people, and those who marched in the Civil Rights Movement carried his rhythms in their hearts. His poetry did not enact laws, but it helped shape the spirit of a generation that demanded them. Thus, Nemerov’s paradox: poetry accomplishes little in the direct sense, yet it accomplishes much in the hidden sense, preparing the soil for change.

The meaning is clear: poetry is not a hammer but a seed. It rarely strikes down the wall it targets, but it plants something in the minds of men and women that may one day grow into transformation. The poet may long for immediate victory, but history often answers with silence, only to reveal years later that the poem has become the foundation of a new awakening. In this way, poetry is more powerful than the poet’s will—it serves the deep current of human destiny, not the narrow aim of one voice.

What lesson must we take? That the poet must write with courage, but also with humility. Do not despise your work if it fails to bring about instant change. Do not measure your words by laws passed or thrones toppled. Rather, measure them by the truth they carry, the fire they kindle, the memory they preserve. Your voice may not achieve what you wish, but it may accomplish something greater—something unseen, something that outlives both you and your cause.

Practical actions follow. If you write, write with honesty, not propaganda, for truth endures while rhetoric rots. If you read, let poetry shape your heart even if it does not shape the government tomorrow. And in your life, trust that your words and deeds may matter in ways you cannot foresee. For just as a stone cast into the sea makes ripples that reach unseen shores, so a poem cast into the world may touch lives far beyond the poet’s sight.

Thus Nemerov’s wisdom stands: political poems may fail in their aim, yet poetry itself never fails to make something happen. It may not be what the poet wants, but it is what humanity needs. Let us then write, read, and cherish poetry not for its immediate victories, but for its eternal echoes.