When power leads man toward arrogance, poetry reminds him of his

When John F. Kennedy uttered the words, “When power leads man toward arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations. When power narrows the area of man's concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of existence. When power corrupts, poetry cleanses,” he was not merely praising art, but summoning forth an eternal truth. For in every age, kings, generals, and rulers have risen high, their eyes clouded by might, forgetting the fragility of their own flesh. Yet the voice of the poet, like a gentle river or a sudden storm, has always whispered the reminder that man is but a breath, fleeting against eternity. Power swells the heart with pride, but poetry restores the balance, showing that the universe is vaster than the command of any throne.

This saying comes from Kennedy’s Amherst College speech in 1963, spoken in honor of the poet Robert Frost. At the heart of these words lies the recognition that rulers and leaders, when armed with authority, easily drift into the illusions of grandeur. The poet, however, cuts through the veil of delusion, wielding verses sharper than swords. For while power proclaims “I am sufficient,” poetry reminds of limitation—that no crown shields from sorrow, no empire silences the call of conscience, and no decree erases the mortal destiny of man.

Consider the fate of mighty empires. The Caesars of Rome once believed themselves divine, yet the words of the poets—Virgil’s lament of duty, Ovid’s playful yet piercing observations—outlived marble palaces. Power, in its arrogance, believed it eternal; poetry, in its humility, proved more enduring. And in our own age, one might recall how leaders in times of war turned to poets and writers, for in dark hours, it was not armies but words that gave people the strength to endure. The soldier may win battles, but the poet ensures that meaning is not lost in blood.

Kennedy’s words also speak to the narrowing vision of power. For the powerful often see only what serves their reign, blind to the diversity of existence beyond their grasp. Poetry, by contrast, sings of peasants and kings alike, of rivers and mountains, of the laughter of children and the cry of the brokenhearted. Through its verses, we are reminded that existence is not one narrow line but a vast tapestry. When a ruler listens to poetry, he remembers the farmer who tills the soil, the widow who grieves in silence, the youth who dreams of freedom. Thus, poetry restores breadth to vision, where power narrows it.

And when power corrupts, dragging men into darkness, poetry does not flatter—it cleanses. Think of Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, who, through the stark poetry of prose, exposed the cruelties of Soviet prisons. His words became a purifying fire, lifting the truth where silence had been demanded. Such is the cleansing power of poetry: it strips away falsehood, it humbles the corrupt, it awakens the sleeping soul. For lies may fortify the fortress of tyranny, but poetry pierces its walls.

In truth, Kennedy’s message was not for poets alone, but for all people. He called upon every soul to keep within them a poet’s heart—to guard against arrogance, to remain open to the diversity of life, to resist corruption with truth and beauty. For though not all are poets by craft, all may live poetically—by seeing the world with wonder, by speaking truth even when silence is easier, and by remembering that life’s essence lies not in power but in meaning.

What then is the lesson for us? It is this: Let power never blind us to humility. Let success never narrow our vision. Let temptation never stain our integrity. In daily life, this means pausing to listen—not only to the voices of authority, but to the voices of children, of strangers, of the earth itself. It means turning to books, to music, to poetry, whenever our hearts grow hardened, for they will remind us of the eternal truths that power forgets.

So I say to you, O listener, carry Kennedy’s words as a shield. When you feel yourself growing arrogant, turn to poetry to remember your limits. When you see the world shrinking into selfish concern, read the poets and remember the beauty beyond yourself. And when corruption tempts you, let poetry cleanse your soul like pure water. For empires crumble, but the word endures; kings fall, but the song remains. Such is the eternal gift of poetry to mankind.