You don't help people in your poems. I've been trying to help
You don't help people in your poems. I've been trying to help people all my life - that's my trouble.
Hear the restless and conflicted words of Charles Olson, poet of vast breath and troubled vision: “You don’t help people in your poems. I’ve been trying to help people all my life – that’s my trouble.” In this utterance, he unveils the paradox of the poet’s burden. For poetry, though it may inspire, console, or awaken, is not always an act of direct aid. A verse cannot feed the hungry, nor shelter the homeless, nor mend a broken body. Yet Olson, who bore the weight of wanting to serve and to heal, found in this tension both sorrow and wisdom.
The meaning of his words is sharp. Olson acknowledges that poetry lives in the realm of spirit and imagination, while helping people demands presence, action, and sacrifice. To write is not the same as to act, and the poet must face this divide. Olson admits that his life was consumed by trying to bridge these worlds, to give not only words but tangible help. His confession, “that’s my trouble,” reveals both his exhaustion and his recognition of the limits of art. It is a cry from a man who wished his poems could be more than words, but also deeds.
The ancients, too, wrestled with this truth. When Socrates drank the hemlock, his dialogues could not save him. Yet those same words, preserved by Plato, have saved the minds of countless generations from ignorance. The philosopher’s speech did not “help” him in the moment of crisis, but it became a lantern for all who came after. So it is with Olson: the poem may not offer bread to the body, but it offers sustenance to the spirit. Its help is real, though of another kind.
History offers us another example in the life of Victor Hugo. When exile tore him from his beloved France, he did not march armies nor wield swords. Yet through Les Misérables, he gave the world a vision of justice and compassion. Did his book feed the poor? No. But it stirred hearts to see them, to care for them, to act. Hugo’s work shows that though the poet may not directly help people, his words can awaken others to action. Thus Olson’s trouble may also be his gift: his yearning to help infused his poems with a fire that still touches readers.
Olson’s lament also speaks to the danger of confusing art with duty. If the poet believes his verse alone can heal the world, he may fall into despair when suffering remains. But if he sees his role clearly—that his task is to speak, to reveal, to preserve meaning—then his work becomes part of a greater tapestry, one thread among many in the labor of humanity. The nurse, the worker, the mother, the teacher—they help with hands. The poet helps with vision. Both are needed, though they do not wear the same cloak.
The lesson for us is profound: do not demand of art that it replace action, nor demand of action that it replace art. If you are moved to help people, then act—give, serve, comfort. If you are moved to create, then write, paint, or sing with all your might. And if you are blessed with both urges, then do as Olson did: struggle with the tension, but let it shape your humanity. For it is in the struggle that greatness is born.
Therefore, remember Olson’s words: “You don’t help people in your poems.” Accept the limits of art, but do not despise them. Poetry may not feed a starving mouth, but it can awaken a soul to compassion. Action may not shape eternal words, but it can heal in the moment of need. Live so that your art carries truth, and your life carries kindness. And if, like Olson, you feel troubled that you cannot do both perfectly, remember this: the trouble itself is proof of your humanity, and that too is a gift.
PLphuong linh
I find it interesting that Olson’s ‘trouble’ comes from trying to help others through his poetry. It seems like he’s grappling with the idea that poetry isn’t always about providing answers or solutions. What if poetry’s real value is in its ability to raise questions, challenge norms, or simply be a form of personal expression? Does the pressure to ‘help’ others through art hinder an artist’s creativity, or is it part of the reason they create in the first place?
DSTran Duc Sinh
Olson’s words make me think about the pressure artists feel to make their work useful to others. Does writing poetry with the intention to ‘help’ limit the authenticity of the work? Is there a risk that poems written to ‘help people’ may lose their genuine voice in the process? It’s interesting how Olson seems to express a kind of disillusionment with the idea of using art for assistance. Does this mean that poetry is more of an individual pursuit rather than a communal one?
BBuithanhdat
I really relate to Olson’s feeling of trying to help others but not finding that help in his work. It’s a complicated dynamic—how do you reconcile the desire to give something of yourself through art, while also realizing that art, especially poetry, isn’t always a tool for direct help? Do we expect too much from poets and artists in terms of making a tangible difference in others’ lives, or is that simply an unrealistic expectation?
HPPhan Hong Phuc
Olson's comment is so raw and honest. It makes me think about the nature of art and whether it’s about serving others or simply expressing personal truths. Is it possible for a poet to truly help someone through their work, or is that too much of a burden to place on the art? Maybe poetry is more about the act of expression and connection rather than providing solutions or answers for the reader.
KBkhoi bui
I find it fascinating that Olson seems conflicted about his life’s purpose and his poetry. The idea that he’s been trying to ‘help people’ and sees that as his ‘trouble’ speaks to a deeper frustration. How much responsibility does an artist have to their audience? Can art, especially poetry, be effective if it’s not directly aimed at helping others? I wonder if Olson sees poetry more as self-expression than a means of solving problems for others.