'Elizabeth Guy is Dead Poet's Society's John Keating' — Paul Knight
Poetry makes sense of life; it offers us truths; it brings us unimagined worlds; and it liberates our pain. In moments of great joy or sadness, it is poetry which says the impossible, ensuring that the poignancy and loveliness of our humanity never passes into nothingness.
Great Art belongs to everyone; thus, it is crucial that we continue the dialogue between ourselves and the poems. It is in this dialogue that we witness the alchemy of poetry: the way it transmutes from a language form and feature to a universal elixir.
What is the point of living if there is no Art? And poetry is the most concentrated of all Art. It is the oldest of all literary forms. Poetry offers ritual and cadence: sacrifice and secrets. It is audacious and disturbing but always — and this applies to all great poetry — yours. Mine. Ours.
So, we read poetry to face the truth. To stand there and dig in, to stumble over words we don't get, to find a phrase that flicks a light on in our memory, to cat-paw over and over an image that was laid down long ago. Most of all, we read poetry to remind ourselves of what really matters: to witness the soaring light that tears up our small lives.
