The State of Poetry and Masculinity
For most of the last several centuries, the English-speaking world has celebrated male poets who created beautiful verses—from Shakespeare to Frost. Interestingly, there’s been a strange shift in perception: today, poets aren’t often viewed as masculine figures.
It’s not just a random change. It seems to stem from a wave of thinking within academia and publishing, where some have argued that women’s voices needed more attention, while men’s voices were overrepresented. This viewpoint has contributed to a shift in how literature is perceived.
Over the past year, I’ve come across countless articles discussing the fate of the male poet. It appears there’s been a misguided attempt to convince young people that literature lacks any masculine value.
This idea, suggesting that literary art is exclusively feminine, is, quite frankly, inaccurate. Looking back at figures like King David shows us that strong men actively sought inspiration, a muse capable of leading to great creativity.
The zenith of masculine poetry could arguably be placed during World War I—a time when the harsh realities of war pushed writers like Sassoon, Kilmer, and Owen to create profound works that resonate to this day.
A snippet from Robert Graves’ work captures that era’s energy:
The emperor and emperor strut around the stage / Once again, with pomp, greed, and rage. / The court minister will quit. / Fight to the last drop at home. / by a million people will die / In new and terrible suffering.
Graves, alongside writers like Rudyard Kipling, produced poetry that many men still hold dear. Kipling’s “If” teaches lessons about integrity and resilience, essential virtues for any man:
If I could make up for that unforgiving minute / When you run a distance equivalent to 60 seconds, / The earth and everything on it is yours, / And more than that, you become a man, son!
So, what’s different now? Why aren’t we seeing poets like Kipling, or even modern greats like Cummings or Eliot? I spoke with Joseph Massey, a poet pushing boundaries today.
Massey mentioned that postmodernism has somewhat diluted poetry in educational settings. He referenced Whitman’s vision for American poetry as aspiring to be “transcendent and new.” He believes that engaging with meaningful language can empower young men in a world feeling increasingly disconnected.
Massey argues that poetry should not be seen as a trivial pursuit. Rather, it’s a powerful means to convey understanding and thought. There’s an inherent drive within men to express themselves through poetry, perhaps rooted in ancient traditions aimed at attracting partners.
Hope remains, though. With America’s 250th anniversary on the horizon, the release of Christopher Nolan’s adaptation of The Odyssey might reignite interest in traditional, masculine poetry, encouraging a new generation to engage with poetic classics.
Ultimately, we need to abandon the belief that writing poetry is somehow beneath us. In fact, very few can honestly compare their experiences to those of poets who faced the horrors of war.
If you want to nurture a well-rounded son, introduce him to Kipling, Yeats, Eliot, and Frost. These poets can provide the insights necessary for him to navigate life without being deceived by its complexities.
French poet Louis Aragon expressed a sentiment about the lasting impact of words: the connections made through them can be both comforting and profound.
Lastly, it’s not just concerning that youth aren’t reading poetry—it’s equally troubling that they aren’t writing it. The beauty of language and expression could vanish if we don’t encourage this creative outlet.
