That's one of the great things about poetry; one realises that
That's one of the great things about poetry; one realises that one does one's little turn - that you're just part of the great crop, as it were.
Hear the words of Paul Muldoon, poet of Ireland, who declared with humility and clarity: “That’s one of the great things about poetry; one realises that one does one’s little turn—that you’re just part of the great crop, as it were.” In this simple yet profound saying lies the truth of all creative labor: that the poet is but a single voice in a chorus spanning centuries, a fleeting hand in the vast harvest of human expression. To write a poem is not to claim eternity, but to contribute to it, to sow one seed among countless others, each adding to the field of beauty and memory.
For poetry is not the work of one, nor of one generation. It is the ongoing dialogue of the soul of humanity with itself. From Homer chanting by the fire, to Sappho singing her fragments of love, to Whitman proclaiming his vast self, to the poets of today—each does but a little turn. Yet together, their voices weave the great song of mankind. Muldoon’s words remind us that no poet stands alone, but all are gathered into the crop, each stalk nourished by the rains of tradition and the sunlight of inspiration.
Consider the example of Virgil, whose Aeneid was written as Rome’s great national epic. Centuries later, Dante walked through Hell and Paradise guided by Virgil’s shade, his poem rooted in the soil of the Roman bard. And later still, countless poets drew upon Dante’s vision, carrying it forward into new tongues, new lands, new hearts. Each did his turn, each added to the harvest. Thus poetry is never a solitary act, but part of a long lineage, a chain of fire carried from age to age.
Yet Muldoon speaks also of humility. For in the fever of creation, it is easy for the poet—or any artist—to imagine himself singular, irreplaceable, the pinnacle of art. But poetry teaches otherwise. It whispers: you are one among many, no more and no less. Your words are precious, yes, but they join a greater tapestry whose design you cannot see. This is not despair but consolation. For to be part of the crop is to be connected, rooted in something vast, eternal, and alive.
And is this not true of all human endeavor? The scientist who makes a discovery builds upon the work of those before, and his findings will one day be the soil for another. The teacher who inspires a child adds to a chain of wisdom that began long before and will continue long after. The parent who raises a child contributes to the great harvest of humanity itself. Each does but a little turn, yet all turns together create the symphony of history.
Think also of the poets who lived obscure, unrecognized in their day, such as Emily Dickinson, who published few poems in her lifetime. She must have known her voice was but a whisper in the world. Yet today, her words stand among the strongest stalks of the harvest, nourishing countless readers. This is the mystery Muldoon names: we do not control the size of our place in the crop, only the integrity of our little turn.
Therefore, O seekers, the lesson is this: embrace both humility and courage. Do your work, write your poems, sing your songs, live your truth—not with pride of being the greatest, but with gratitude for being part of the great crop. Let your contribution be sincere, your turn be faithful, your seed be sown with care. In this way, your work will join the eternal harvest, whether known to millions or to a few.
And so remember Muldoon’s wisdom: poetry is larger than any one of us, yet it needs each of us. To write, to create, to live with honesty is to take your place in the field. Bend your back, sow your seed, do your little turn, and trust that the harvest will endure. For we are but part of the crop, yet the crop is the glory of all humanity.
HNHoai Nhu
The idea that poetry is part of a larger crop really resonates with me. It speaks to the idea of community and continuity in the artistic world. As poets, we may feel like our individual efforts are small, but when we step back, we see that they contribute to a bigger, more meaningful whole. How does this perspective change the way poets approach their work—does it make them more motivated to contribute, or does it add pressure to create something profound?
QTMai Quoc thinh
Muldoon’s perspective on poetry suggests a sense of humility. It’s comforting to know that, as poets, we’re part of a long-standing tradition rather than creating in isolation. It’s almost like we’re planting seeds that will grow into something much larger. I wonder, though, how do poets find their own voice while still recognizing their place in this vast crop of poets? Does this sense of belonging shape the way poets write?
PDPham Duc
I really appreciate how Muldoon frames poetry as a collective effort rather than just an individual pursuit. It’s a comforting thought—knowing that each poem, no matter how small, is a part of a larger, continuous tradition. But do poets ever feel discouraged, thinking their work won’t leave a lasting mark? How do you maintain this sense of contribution when the weight of poetic tradition feels overwhelming?
LDLoi Do
Muldoon’s take on poetry made me think about how we often see our own contributions as small or insignificant, yet they are part of a larger, ongoing process. It’s like each poet adds to the growing harvest, even if their individual ‘turn’ seems small. Is this how all artists view their work? Or do some artists struggle to see themselves as part of a greater tradition, feeling isolated in their creation?
KCAnh Kunn Chu
Paul Muldoon’s reflection on poetry really struck me. It’s humbling to think of ourselves as part of a larger tradition, a collective effort that spans across time. Poetry, in this sense, seems to be more than individual expression—it’s about contributing to something bigger. I wonder, do poets always see themselves as part of this ongoing crop, or does it take time and reflection to realize their place in the larger poetic tradition?