The sources of poetry are in the spirit seeking completeness.

Hear the luminous words of Muriel Rukeyser, poet of vision and courage, who declared: “The sources of poetry are in the spirit seeking completeness.” This saying, like a deep well, speaks of the eternal hunger of the soul. For poetry is not born from casual thought, nor from idle entertainment, but from the profound yearning within—the human spirit longing to be whole, to reconcile its fragments, to gather its scattered pieces into harmony. In these words, Rukeyser reveals that poetry springs not from intellect alone, but from the very ache of existence, the unending desire for unity.

The meaning is clear: the spirit seeking completeness is the root of all art. Humanity is never at rest; we are creatures torn between what we are and what we might become. Poetry arises as a bridge, a vessel to carry us toward wholeness. It gathers pain and joy, memory and vision, the brokenness of the world and the hope for its healing, and sets them in words that sing. Thus the source of poetry is the same source from which prayers, dreams, and struggles flow—the deep river of longing within the human heart.

Consider the story of Rainer Maria Rilke, the great poet of solitude. His Duino Elegies were written in a time of despair, when he felt incomplete, exiled within his own spirit. Yet in that brokenness, he heard the voices of angels, and from his yearning for completeness, he gave the world verses that still resound with transcendence. His poetry was not written from ease, but from longing. It was his attempt to gather the fragments of life into meaning, to turn suffering into song. He lived Rukeyser’s truth: poetry is born from the spirit seeking completeness.

So it is for us all. When we are wounded, when we feel fractured, when life scatters us in a thousand directions—this is when poetry becomes necessary. For it does not merely describe; it heals, it binds together, it reminds us of the unity hidden beneath our chaos. The poet seeks completeness not only for themselves, but for their people, their age, their world. Thus the poet becomes both witness and healer, voice of the fragmented, singer of wholeness.

This teaching carries a heroic weight. It tells us that poetry is not trivial, not decoration, not a luxury for the idle. It is as essential as bread and water, for it speaks to the hunger of the spirit. Without poetry, the longing for completeness is silenced, and the human being withers into numbness. But with poetry, the longing is given voice, and even if the soul does not arrive at wholeness, it tastes of it, and is sustained by its vision.

The lesson, then, is to honor the yearning within you. Do not despise your incompleteness, for it is the wellspring of creation. When you feel divided, restless, unsatisfied—write, read, or listen to poetry. Let it remind you that your brokenness is not an end, but a beginning. Poetry teaches us that longing is holy, that imperfection is fertile ground, that the journey toward completeness is itself a kind of wholeness.

Practical steps follow. Read poems not only with the mind but with the heart, asking, What hunger does this answer? What wholeness does this seek? Write verses yourself, not for perfection, but to gather the fragments of your soul. When you feel scattered, let words be the thread that binds you. Share poetry with others, for their spirits too seek completeness. In this way, poetry becomes not just art, but communion, not just song, but medicine.

Thus Muriel Rukeyser’s words stand eternal: “The sources of poetry are in the spirit seeking completeness.” Remember them, O listener, when you feel divided, when the world feels broken. Know that in this very longing lies the seed of creation, and that poetry—whether spoken, sung, or whispered—arises to lead us closer to the wholeness we all desire.