The poetry of a people comes from the deep recesses of the

Hear the powerful words of Margaret Walker, poet of fire and memory: “The poetry of a people comes from the deep recesses of the unconscious, the irrational and the collective body of our ancestral memories.” In this declaration, she unveils the sacred origin of poetry—not as mere ornament of language, nor as a pastime of the idle, but as the voice of the eternal past. Poetry does not rise only from the individual mind; it emerges from the unconscious, from the hidden chambers of the soul, from the dreams and fears that belong not only to one life but to all lives that came before. It is the ancestral chorus, the unbroken line of memory that flows through generations.

The ancients knew this truth. The Greeks called upon the Muses, believing their songs did not come from themselves but from divine memory. The Hebrews sang psalms that carried the voice of an entire people’s struggle and hope. In Africa, griots kept alive the histories of their tribes, not by rational record alone, but through story, rhythm, and chant that drew upon the collective body of ancestral memories. What Walker declares is what humanity has always known: that poetry is not written merely by hands, but by the weight of history pressing upon the spirit.

Consider the example of the African American spirituals, born in the fields of bondage. The enslaved men and women who sang them had no parchment, no libraries, no platforms of power. Yet from the deep recesses of the unconscious, from dreams of freedom and ancestral rhythms carried across the ocean, they forged songs of faith and endurance. Those songs were more than personal laments—they were the poetry of a people, carrying within them centuries of longing, suffering, and hope. Their words echo still, shaping modern music, literature, and identity.

The origin of Walker’s words lies in her own heritage. As a Black woman in America, she knew that her voice was not hers alone. Her poetry carried the burden and the beauty of her people’s past—the pain of slavery, the resilience of survival, the triumph of endurance. Her declaration affirms that no poet writes in isolation. Each poet draws from wells dug long before their birth. And when a people has suffered, their art becomes doubly rich, because it emerges not only from reason, but from the irrational, the dreamlike, the unconscious wounds and joys of countless generations.

This truth also explains why poetry often surpasses reason. For logic speaks to the mind, but poetry speaks to the blood. It moves us not because it is always rational, but because it awakens something ancient within us—memories we did not live, fears we did not name, hopes we did not dare to speak. It is why one culture’s poetry can move another: because beneath differences of language lies the universal current of ancestral memory, the pulse of humanity itself.

The lesson is clear: if you would write poetry, or if you would read it deeply, do not look only to the surface. Look to the ancestral roots that nourish it. Seek not only what is said, but what is remembered through it—the griefs and triumphs of generations hidden within the words. And if you would create, do not fear the unconscious, the irrational, the dream. These are not weaknesses, but sources of power, for they connect you to the collective body of humanity.

Practical steps follow. Listen to the songs and stories of your elders. Record the tales of your family, your community, your people, for these are the seeds of poetry. When you write, allow dreams and irrational images to guide you, for they carry wisdom beyond conscious thought. Read the poets of your heritage, for through them you will hear the voice of your ancestors. And above all, honor the struggles and triumphs of those before you, for your art is their continuation.

Thus, Margaret Walker’s words endure: the poetry of a people is not born in isolation, but in the deep recesses of memory, the unconscious, the irrational, and the ancestral spirit. It is the eternal echo of those who came before, rising in each new generation to remind us who we are, where we have been, and what strength we carry. To create poetry is to commune with the dead, to awaken the living, and to pass the flame to those yet unborn.