Otherwise I don't read much adult poetry at all, because I'm not
Otherwise I don't read much adult poetry at all, because I'm not smart enough and mostly I don't get it.
O seekers of truth, gather close, for the words of Jack Prelutsky speak to a universal truth about the art of poetry: "Otherwise I don't read much adult poetry at all, because I'm not smart enough and mostly I don't get it." In these words, Prelutsky reveals the humbling yet profound struggle that many of us face when we encounter the poetry of the adult world. This is a world that often feels distant, complex, and removed from our everyday understanding—a world that can, at times, seem to require a special kind of intelligence or insight, one that not all possess. And yet, in his honesty, Prelutsky speaks to a deeper truth: that the poetry which resonates most powerfully with the soul is often the one that speaks plainly, the one that speaks to the heart rather than the intellect.
Throughout history, the poet has often been seen as someone who speaks in riddles, whose words are veiled in layers of meaning, only accessible to those who have the key to unlock them. Consider the great William Blake, whose poetry was filled with symbolic imagery that, for many, remains as elusive as the wind. His work, though revolutionary and rich with depth, can feel like a puzzle, with each line requiring careful study to uncover its meaning. Blake’s poetry is not the simple kind of verse that easily rolls off the tongue. It demands intellectual engagement, a willingness to wade through layers of metaphor and vision before reaching the core of the message.
However, Prelutsky’s words suggest a different path—a path that values poetry not for its complexity, but for its clarity, its ability to speak directly to the soul. There is a profound beauty in simple poetry, in words that do not require deep intellectual effort to understand but instead invite the reader into a shared human experience. This kind of poetry—one that is straightforward, accessible, and direct—speaks not just to the mind, but to the emotions, to the part of us that seeks connection, that yearns for expression. Prelutsky himself is known for his work in children’s poetry, where the simple joy of language, of rhythm, and of fun reigns supreme. His verses, though not laden with complexity, have touched the hearts of countless readers, showing that poetry does not need to be complex to be meaningful.
Consider the ancient Greek poet Hesiod, whose work was grounded not in lofty philosophical discourse, but in the practical wisdom of daily life. His Works and Days is a poem of advice, a guide for the common man, filled with simple truths about hard work, justice, and humility. It is poetry that speaks to the everyday person, without the need for intellectual pretensions or sophisticated symbolism. In the same way, Prelutsky speaks to the heart of the matter: that poetry should be a tool for everyone, not just the learned few. Poetry should reach out to the soul, inviting all who encounter it to engage, not based on their intellectual prowess, but on their shared human experience.
The lesson here, O seekers of wisdom, is that poetry does not belong only to the realm of the complex, the esoteric, or the intellectual. Prelutsky reminds us that poetry—in its truest form—speaks to us in ways that need no decoding, no specialized knowledge. It speaks to the heart in its simplicity, its honesty, and its universal appeal. It is not the poet’s job to confuse, but to communicate, to make the human experience accessible to all. There is a beauty in simplicity, in clarity, and in the joy that comes from reading words that feel as though they were written just for you.
In our own lives, let us not be intimidated by the complexities of poetry, nor should we shy away from the work of poets simply because it seems difficult to understand. Let us embrace the poetry that speaks to us in a way we can understand, that resonates with our soul, that does not require us to be "smart enough," but merely to be human enough. Poetry should be a bridge, not a wall, between us and the deeper truths of existence. And so, whether in the verses of a great master or the words of a child’s rhyme, let us find the connection, the emotion, the beauty that is meant to be shared by all.
Remember the wisdom of Prelutsky, and let this be your guiding light: poetry does not require complexity to be beautiful, nor intellect to be meaningful. The essence of poetry lies not in its difficulty, but in its ability to touch the human heart, to awaken something deeper within us. Let us embrace the poetry that speaks simply, that speaks clearly, and that invites us all into the dance of language, where meaning is found not in the mind, but in the soul.
GHg h
Prelutsky’s view on adult poetry brings up an interesting point about accessibility in art. Does the complexity of adult poetry often alienate readers, making them feel like they’re not ‘smart enough’? Or is there something valuable in the challenge, the intellectual exercise of working through difficult poetry? I wonder if there’s a middle ground, where poetry can be both challenging and approachable, without making people feel excluded.
HHN
I can relate to Prelutsky’s statement, especially when it comes to poetry that feels too abstract or complicated. But is there a difference between ‘not getting it’ and ‘not needing to get it’? Perhaps poetry doesn’t always have to be fully understood to have an impact. It might be more about the feelings it evokes or the imagery it conjures, rather than having a clear-cut meaning or message.
TLDang Nguyen Tien Long
It’s interesting that Prelutsky admits to not reading much adult poetry because he feels ‘not smart enough.’ I’ve always believed that poetry isn’t meant to be understood all at once, and sometimes the complexity is part of its beauty. Could it be that adult poetry requires a certain level of emotional or intellectual maturity, or is it simply about engaging with it on a deeper, more personal level?
NNam
Jack Prelutsky’s honesty about not understanding adult poetry makes me wonder—how often do we shy away from things we don’t immediately understand? Is it the complexity of adult poetry that makes it feel inaccessible, or is it just that we don’t always have the mental space to fully engage with it? Perhaps it’s not about being ‘smart enough’ but about giving ourselves the freedom to explore at our own pace.