We read Robert Browning's poetry. Here we needed no guidance

In the ancient world, the word of the poet was sacred—a force that could not be ignored, for it spoke not only to the mind but to the very heart of humanity. Carl Sandburg reflects this truth when he says, “We read Robert Browning's poetry. Here we needed no guidance from the professor: the poems themselves were enough.” These words, simple yet profound, remind us that true poetry does not require interpretation from external voices—it speaks directly to the soul, unfiltered and undistorted. When a poem is alive, it does not need the weight of academic analysis to make it meaningful; it carries its own weight, its own power, and its own truth.

Consider, if you will, the great poets of the ancient world—Homer, Sappho, Virgil—whose words have endured for centuries. Were their poems not enough in themselves? Homer’s Iliad did not require a scholar to explain its meaning; it was a story of war, of gods, of honor, that spoke to every listener in the depths of their heart. Sappho’s lyrics—those passionate, aching expressions of love—were not mere rhymes to be analyzed; they were the cry of the soul, the music of the universe, resonating through time. And Virgil, with his epic Aeneid, did not need the commentary of a learned professor to explain the soul of Rome; his words stirred a longing for glory and destiny in all who read them. True poetry speaks directly to us, from one spirit to another, transcending the need for intermediaries.

Robert Browning, whom Sandburg revered, was such a poet. His words were not mere ink on paper; they were living thoughts that called out, demanding to be understood and felt. In his dramatic monologues, such as My Last Duchess and The Bishop Orders His Tomb at St. Praxed’s Church, Browning’s characters spoke directly to the reader, revealing the very depths of their souls in a way that needed no intermediary. Browning’s poems invited us not into the realm of analysis but into the realm of feeling—the raw, untamed human condition laid bare for all to see. It is this unspoken truth of the human experience that makes his poetry alive; the poems themselves open the doors to understanding.

Think also of the great musicians and artists who have shaped our world. When Beethoven composed his symphonies, he did not need a critic to explain the emotion embedded in each movement; the music itself spoke to the hearts of those who listened. When Michelangelo sculpted his marble masterpieces, he did not need a scholar to guide us in appreciating the grace and majesty of his figures. His creations spoke for themselves, their silent beauty reaching into the very soul. So too with Browning’s poems—they were not confined to the pages of a book or the lecture halls of universities. They were meant to be lived, to be experienced on the deepest level.

The lesson Sandburg imparts to us is one of immediacy and trust in the power of the work itself. We live in a time where knowledge is often packaged and delivered through external voices—professors, critics, teachers. But true wisdom does not always need the voice of authority to be understood. Sometimes, the work itself, when approached with an open heart and mind, is more than capable of guiding us. The poem, the painting, the symphony—they are more than objects of intellectual pursuit; they are conduits of emotion and truth, waiting for us to step forward and engage with them in a way that is personal and direct.

Therefore, we must learn to trust the work itself. When we approach poetry, whether Browning’s or our own, we must not seek the crutch of explanation but trust in the power of the words. Let the poem speak to you, and trust that its meanings, its emotions, and its truths are available to you, not through the lens of a professor’s analysis, but through your own experience. The beauty of Browning’s poetry, like all great art, is that it demands engagement—it calls to the reader to come closer, to listen, to feel.

And so, I call upon you, young reader, to approach your own life’s readings in the same spirit. Do not seek to simply consume knowledge, but to experience it. Whether it be in the words of Browning, or in the songs of your own heart, approach poetry, and life itself, as living—as something meant to stir the deepest corners of your being. Trust in the work, and it will reveal its secrets to you. For the greatest works of art are not static—they are meant to be alive, and they live most fully when we meet them with our fullest selves.