To read a poem is to hear it with our eyes; to hear it is to see

“To read a poem is to hear it with our eyes; to hear it is to see it with our ears.” Thus spoke Octavio Paz, poet of Mexico, whose words shimmer with the paradox of truth. In this saying, he reveals the mysterious alchemy of poetry, which transforms the senses, fuses them together, and lifts us into a realm where sound becomes vision and vision becomes sound. When we read, the silent eye begins to echo with music; when we listen, the voice paints pictures upon the inward screen of the soul. Here lies the secret of poetry—it awakens more than one sense, it touches the totality of being.

For the poet is a weaver of synesthesia, binding sight and sound into a single garment of meaning. The ancients understood this union well. Homer’s lines were sung before they were written, each word ringing like a harp-string in the hearts of his listeners. Yet when his epics were later inscribed, men reading them centuries after still felt the pulse of his music, their eyes hearing what their ears could no longer receive. Likewise, when one listens to a poem spoken aloud, the images spring forth: forests and seas, lovers and battles, gods and men. The ears see, and the invisible takes shape before us.

This mystery shows that poetry is not confined to the intellect alone. It is not a puzzle merely to be solved, nor a melody merely to be admired. It is an encounter with the fullness of human perception. The written word, though silent, carries a sound beyond sound. The spoken word, though fleeting, paints visions upon the inner canvas. Thus, Paz reminds us that poetry dwells in the borderlands between the senses, teaching us to experience the world more fully, more intensely, more completely.

History offers us a witness in the figure of the prophet Isaiah. His words, preserved upon scrolls, are read still by the eyes of men and women who find in them not only meaning but music: “They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles.” In reading, one hears the wings beat against the wind. In hearing, one sees the eagles rising into the heavens. The prophet’s vision proves Paz’s truth: poetry unites what is separate, and in so doing, enlarges the soul.

Consider, too, the haiku masters of Japan. Their poems are but a few words on the page, silent as falling snow. Yet when read, one hears the hush of winter, the rustle of a breeze, the call of a bird at dawn. And when recited aloud, the listener sees the sudden flash of a flower blooming or the moon rising over water. The power of poetry lies in this ability to cross the boundaries of the senses, creating a deeper reality than sight or sound alone could ever hold.

The teaching for us is profound: we must learn to look with our ears and listen with our eyes. Do not limit perception to the narrow gates of habit. Open yourself to the way a word can become an image, and an image can become a song. In doing so, life itself grows richer. A conversation becomes music; a face becomes a story; the rustle of leaves becomes a painting. The poet trains us to perceive the unity of the world.

Therefore, children of wisdom, live as readers and listeners of poetry. Read aloud so your eyes may hear; listen deeply so your ears may see. Let your life be a constant crossing of senses, a blending of boundaries, a widening of awareness. For in this lies not only the secret of poetry, but the secret of life itself: to know that the world is more than it appears, that truth has many voices, and that beauty speaks in every tongue of the body and the soul.