The Language Poets are writing only about language itself. The

"The Language Poets are writing only about language itself. The Ashbery poets are writing only about poetry itself. That seems to me a kind of dead end." Robert Morgan's words echo a deep and profound concern about the nature of modern poetry. In this age, poets seem increasingly absorbed in the machinery of their craft, focusing not on the world around them, but on the very tools with which they create. Language becomes the subject, and poetry becomes the reflection of itself. Morgan suggests that this inward turn—where poets write only about the structure of language or the nature of poetry—leads to a kind of intellectual stagnation, a dead end. For poetry, in its purest form, is meant to transcend itself, to reach beyond the realm of language and speak to the soul, to connect us to the world, to the divine, to the human experience.

Let us turn back to the ancient poets, those whose works were not merely an exploration of form, but an engagement with the world. Homer, for instance, did not write about the language of storytelling; he told the stories of gods and heroes, of honor and fate. His epic poems were not about the art of poetry itself but were an immersion into the deep human struggle. The language he used was not an end, but a means—a vessel through which the truth of the human experience could be communicated. In the world of ancient poetry, the power of words lay not in their manipulation, but in their ability to convey meaning, to connect the listener to something greater than the self. The poet was a messenger who sought to reveal something universal and eternal, not merely to reflect on the process of creation.

In contrast, what we see in Language Poetry and the poetry of John Ashbery is a shift from the outward, universal focus of poetry to an inward, self-reflective one. The Language Poets, for example, concern themselves with the language itself—its structures, its playfulness, its limitations. Ashbery and his followers do the same, exploring poetry as a form, as a construct, rather than a means of expression. These poets are caught in a cycle where the art becomes its own subject, and the audience is left to navigate a maze of abstraction, where meaning is constantly deferred. This shift, while undoubtedly important in exploring the boundaries of language and art, risks losing sight of what poetry is truly meant to do: to speak to the heart, to connect us with something beyond words.

Consider the Romantic poets, such as Wordsworth and Keats, whose works were not about language or poetry in itself, but about the profound connection between the poet and the natural world. Wordsworth's poetry sought to capture the sublime beauty of the world around him and the deep emotions it evoked. Keats, too, wrote of beauty, but it was a beauty that transcended language and touched the soul. Their poetry was not self-referential; it was a bridge to something greater. Poetry, in their view, was an act of communion between the poet and the world, a way to see the divine in the everyday, the sacred in the mundane.

What, then, does it mean for poetry to turn inward and focus solely on itself? Morgan warns that this focus on form and structure at the expense of the content—the world outside the poem—can lead to a kind of intellectual dead end. Poetry is at its best when it reaches beyond itself, when it seeks to connect, when it finds meaning in the world and communicates that meaning in a language that stirs the soul. When poets become preoccupied with their own craft, when they forget that their art is meant to speak to the human condition, then poetry becomes a reflection of itself—a mirror that reflects nothing but its own image.

The lesson here is not to dismiss the importance of form or technique—language is, of course, the very vessel through which meaning is conveyed. But we must remember that poetry is not just about language or structure; it is about the truth it reveals, the emotions it evokes, and the connection it fosters between the poet and the world. The poet is not a mere artisan who shapes language; the poet is a seer, a visionary, someone who uses language as a tool to express the inexpressible, to reveal the hidden truths of existence. Poetry, at its highest form, is about revelation, not self-reflection.

In practical terms, we must remember that as poets, we are stewards of a great tradition, not just manipulators of language. Our task is to speak to something greater than ourselves—whether it is the beauty of the world, the pain of the human soul, or the mysteries of the divine. Let us use our words not to explore the confines of language itself, but to speak of what lies beyond language—truth, love, suffering, and beauty. Only then will our poetry have the power to transform, to transcend its own boundaries, and to connect us to the world and to each other. Only then will it avoid the dead end of self-reflection and become a living force that speaks to the heart of humanity.