I Will Be Honest About Poetry
I don’t like poetry. Not a pose, not a phase I grew out of. The rhythm doesn’t land for me, probably an ADHD thing. I’m telling you that up front so the rest is honest.Share on X
The poetry this day hunts for sits in writing nobody calls poetry, like the rhythm of a well-built sentence or the compression of a good tagline.
I’m going to be straight with you, because pretending otherwise would be useless.
I don’t like poetry. This isn’t a pose and not a phase I’m about to grow out of in the next three paragraphs. I’m pretty flat on it. The rhythm, the thing poetry lovers prize most, mostly doesn’t land for me. I suspect it’s an ADHD thing, and since I’ve written openly about my ADHD in my books, I’ll say it plainly here too.
My brain doesn’t settle into the meter and music the way a poetry lover’s does. It just doesn’t click.
So I’m an odd person to write about a poetry holiday. But that’s exactly why this one is worth writing, because the day still points at something true, even for someone who bounces off poetry itself.
Watch: The Beginning Poet's Quickstart Guide: 4 Lyrical Principles for Writing Poetry, Writing with Andrew
The Useful Part, From Someone Who Bounces Off the Form
You don’t have to like poetry to steal its best trick: say the most in the fewest words. That skill shows up in every email, headline, and line of business writing you’ll ever do.Share on X
Poetry is the art of compression, and compression is useful everywhere. Poetry at Work Day gets that right, and it survives even my dislike of the form.
A poem says the most possible in the fewest possible words.
Every word is essential, nothing is wasted, the poet squeezes the poem down to its essence. I may not enjoy reading that, but I can’t deny it’s a real skill, and it’s the same skill that makes everyday writing work. A great email subject line is compression. A tagline that sticks is compression. A sentence that hits hard does it by cutting everything that wasn’t pulling weight. That’s the poet’s discipline, applied to writing that nobody would call poetry.
So you can take the useful part and leave the rest, and that’s roughly what I do. I’ll never love a sonnet. But the underlying skill, making every word count, is one I use constantly, and it’s the most transferable thing poetry has to offer the rest of us.
What My Dislike Taught Me
There’s a lesson in not liking something too, and it’s one I value. Knowing what doesn’t work for your brain is its own kind of useful.
For a long time I assumed I was supposed to like poetry, that not connecting with it was a gap in me to feel bad about. Eventually I figured out it’s just how I’m wired. My ADHD brain wants forward motion and a story to chase, not rhythm to sink into, and that’s fine. Knowing that did two things. It let me stop pretending, and it pointed me toward the writing I do well, the prose, the fiction, the forms with momentum.
Knowing your wiring gives you a map.
That’s the honest version of a poetry holiday from someone who doesn’t like poetry. The form isn’t for me, and I’ve stopped apologizing for it. But the skill underneath it’s for everyone, and you don’t have to enjoy the art to steal its best tool.
How do you spend Poetry at Work Day?
If you love poetry, this is your day, enjoy it fully. Find the rhythm in your work, write a few lines, embrace the music.
If you’re like me and poetry leaves you cold, here’s your version. Take one thing you have to write this week, an email, a description, a headline, and cut it in half. Make every remaining word justify itself. That’s the poet’s skill without the poetry, and it’ll make the writing sharper. You don’t have to like the art to use the craft. That’s the point of the day for the rest of us, and it’s the only honest way I can recommend it.