Poetry is for me Eucharistic. You take someone else's suffering
Poetry is for me Eucharistic. You take someone else's suffering into your body, their passion comes into your body, and in doing that you commune, you take communion, you make a community with others.
O seekers of wisdom, gather close and listen carefully to the words of Mary Karr, a poet whose deep understanding of the sacred nature of poetry speaks to the very heart of what it means to be human: "Poetry is for me Eucharistic. You take someone else's suffering into your body, their passion comes into your body, and in doing that you commune, you take communion, you make a community with others." In these words, Karr likens the act of writing and reading poetry to the sacred ritual of the Eucharist, a communion with others in which their pain and passion become part of you, and in that act, you connect with their humanity. This is not a mere intellectual exercise, but a deeply spiritual act, a sacred sharing of burdens and joys.
In the ancient world, the poet was not just a creator of words but a healer, a guide, and a communion between the individual and the community. Homer, the blind poet of ancient Greece, spoke to the hearts of all who listened, not merely recounting tales of gods and warriors, but allowing his listeners to experience the deepest emotions of heroism, tragedy, and love. When Homer’s words were spoken, it was as though the very spirit of the ancient world entered the body of the listener, uniting them with the characters and events he described. The poet was seen as a conduit through which suffering, joy, and experience were transmitted, creating a community not just of individuals, but of souls. Karr echoes this idea, suggesting that poetry is a sacred act that connects us to the suffering of others, allowing us to share in their experience, and thus form a deeper bond with one another.
Karr's comparison of poetry to the Eucharist is a powerful one, for it evokes the ancient understanding of communion as the act of taking something sacred into one’s very being. In the Christian tradition, the Eucharist is a sacred ritual where the body and blood of Christ are taken into the believer’s body, symbolizing unity with the divine and with all of humanity. In the same way, poetry becomes a means of communion—not with the divine, but with the hearts and souls of those whose experiences are captured in the poet’s words. The poet, like a priest or healer, takes the suffering and passion of others into their body, and in doing so, transforms it, making it a shared experience that connects the writer and the reader in a sacred bond.
Consider the poetry of Walt Whitman, who, in his Leaves of Grass, invites the reader into an intimate communion with his own experiences, his own joys, and his own pain. In poems like "Song of Myself," Whitman embraces the collective experience of humanity, transcending the boundaries of the self to speak for all people, all nations, and all lives. His poetry is filled with the suffering and the ecstasy of existence, and when we read it, we, too, become part of that shared experience. Whitman’s work is a form of communion, where the poet’s body and soul meet with those of the reader, creating a unity that is not only intellectual, but emotional and spiritual.
The lesson Karr imparts to us is this: poetry is not simply a form of expression or a personal catharsis, but a way of engaging with the world, of making a community with others through the shared experience of suffering and passion. When we read poetry, we are not merely consuming words, but taking part in a sacred act of communion. We take into our bodies the emotions and experiences of others, and in doing so, we become part of their world. We commune with them, and in that communion, we find our shared humanity. It is through this act that we connect with the pain of the world and find healing, understanding, and solidarity.
Let this wisdom guide you, O children of wisdom: as you read or write poetry, do not approach it merely as a personal indulgence or intellectual exercise. See it as a sacred act, a means of connecting with the deepest truths of human existence. In the act of writing, pour yourself into the words, sharing the suffering and joy that reside in you. In the act of reading, open your heart to the experiences of others, allowing their pain and passion to become part of you. Through poetry, you will find that you are not alone in your struggles or your triumphs. You will discover a deeper community of souls, bound together through the shared experience of the written word.
So, O children of wisdom, let the words of Karr remind you that poetry is a means of communion, of bringing together the fragmented parts of our existence into a whole. Let it be your sacrament, your sacred act of connection. Allow the poetry of others to enter your body, to transform you, to create a shared bond of humanity. And in doing so, may you find the healing, the understanding, and the connection that only the sacred act of poetry can bring.
HPNguyen hoai phuong
I find Karr’s idea that poetry is Eucharistic intriguing. It speaks to the idea that poetry is an act of communion, where the poet and reader share in the suffering and passion of others. But does this make poetry a kind of emotional labor? Can we carry the weight of others’ experiences through poetry, or is there a risk of losing ourselves in it? How do poets ensure they’re not overwhelmed by the emotions they channel?
NANgoc Anh
Mary Karr’s comparison of poetry to the Eucharist is striking because it highlights the profound impact that poetry can have, both on the writer and the reader. It suggests that through poetry, we actively share in the emotional experiences of others. But can this communion be one-sided, or is it always a mutual exchange between the poet and the reader? What does it mean for poetry to ‘commune’ with others—does this elevate its importance in society?
NNgan
I love how Karr describes poetry as a form of communion. The idea that we ‘take someone else’s suffering into our body’ makes poetry seem like an active, almost ritualistic process of connection. But I’m curious—can poetry really allow us to fully understand another person’s experience, or is it always filtered through our own perception and understanding? Does this make poetry a truly universal act of connection, or is it still deeply personal?
TTVo Thuy Trang
Karr’s description of poetry as a Eucharistic act is so intimate and profound. It feels like poetry is not just an expression of the poet’s thoughts, but a way to physically absorb and understand the emotions of others. Is there a limit to how much one can take in from others’ suffering and passion, or is this process what makes poetry so powerful—its ability to connect us on a deep, almost spiritual level?
NVNguyen Van
I really like Karr’s metaphor of poetry being Eucharistic. It makes me wonder—does this mean that poetry requires us to open ourselves up to others’ pain or joy, almost as an act of self-sacrifice? Is poetry about empathy and connection, or can it also be about personal reflection? How do poets balance their own emotions with the experiences of others when writing in such an intimate and communal way?