The young people have MTV and rock and roll. Why would they go

“The young people have MTV and rock and roll. Why would they go to read poetry? Poetry belongs to the Stone Age. It awakens in us perceptions that go back to those times.” Thus speaks Robert Morgan, poet and historian, whose words reach across the gulf of centuries to remind us that poetry is not merely a pastime of scholars, but a survival of humanity’s oldest instincts. He sees that while each generation invents new rhythms, new spectacles, new distractions, poetry remains something more ancient and more elemental—something that stirs the very marrow of the human soul.

The meaning of this saying lies in the recognition that poetry is older than the page, older than the printing press, older even than writing itself. Before men carved symbols into clay or stone, they sang. They used rhythm to remember, to teach, to celebrate, and to grieve. In the Stone Age, poetry was chant and incantation, tied to ritual, fire, and survival. When Morgan says it “awakens in us perceptions,” he means that poetry touches something deep and primal, a resonance in us that recalls when words were not entertainment but a sacred tool of belonging and survival.

The origin of this truth can be seen in the oral traditions of every culture. The Vedas of India were sung long before they were written; the Iliad was recited centuries before Homer’s lines were preserved on scrolls. The griots of West Africa carried entire histories in verse, their voices the libraries of a people. These were not luxuries but necessities: poetry was how memory survived, how wisdom was passed, how identity was preserved. Thus, when Morgan compares poetry to the Stone Age, he does not belittle it—he crowns it with age and authority.

Consider also the story of the cave paintings of Lascaux, created tens of thousands of years ago. Though silent images, they are cousins of poetry: symbolic, rhythmic, attempts to capture meaning beyond the immediate. Imagine alongside them the chants of hunters around fire, invoking courage and giving thanks. Just as MTV and rock and roll stir the youth of today with rhythm and spectacle, so poetry once stirred entire tribes, binding them in shared perception and purpose. The stage has changed, but the primal hunger for rhythm and meaning remains.

The lesson here is that while modern entertainment dazzles with sound and light, it is poetry that reaches into the deepest strata of the human being. Rock and roll may excite, television may distract, but poetry awakens what is oldest in us: the longing to see beyond appearances, the rhythm of breath and heartbeat, the awe before mystery. To dismiss poetry as irrelevant is to forget ourselves; to embrace it is to remember our true ancestry.

Practically, this means that if we wish to live deeply, we must return to poetry as often as we return to bread or water. Read poems aloud, not as school exercises, but as chants that reconnect you to the stream of humanity. Share them with others, for poetry is not only for solitude but for community, just as it was around ancient fires. Write your own verses, however simple, for the act itself awakens perceptions that sleep beneath the surface of daily life.

Thus the teaching endures: poetry may appear out of step with the glitter of MTV or the thunder of rock and roll, yet it is more ancient than both. It belongs to the Stone Age, and in belonging there, it belongs to us all. Robert Morgan reminds us that when we read or hear a poem, we do not merely consume words—we awaken echoes of our oldest selves, the selves who sang in the dark to give light, who chanted to make meaning, who used rhythm to endure. Poetry is not obsolete; it is eternal.