In an era where attention is the scarcest resource, Wayfare offers a startling proposition: poetry is not merely an aesthetic luxury, but a rigorous spiritual discipline that rewires how we perceive reality. This piece argues that the difference between a poet and a non-poet isn't divine inspiration, but a cultivated habit of attentiveness that transforms the mundane into the sacred. For the busy professional seeking to reclaim depth in a fragmented world, this reframing of the creative act as a form of prayer offers a practical roadmap for living more fully.
The Myth of the Lightning Strike
The article immediately dismantles the romantic notion of the "god-struck" artist waiting for a muse. Instead, it posits that the ability to "realize life" is a byproduct of work, not its prerequisite. Wayfare reports, "I think that many poets would probably say that it is the work that produces the seeing in the poet as well as, later, in the reader." This is a crucial distinction. It shifts the burden from passive waiting to active engagement. The piece suggests that the intense awareness described in Thornton Wilder's Our Town—where the Stage Manager notes that "Saints and poets maybe . . . they do some"—is not an innate trait but a learned skill.
Critics might argue that this utilitarian view of creativity strips art of its mystery, reducing the sublime to a checklist of habits. Yet, the argument holds weight because it democratizes the experience. It suggests that the "seer" is not a chosen elite, but anyone willing to do the labor of paying attention.
"Attention is a piety and . . . the unaggressive articulation of attention in poems may be a form of prayer, an instance of worship, a forwarding of peace."
By citing Donald Revell, the piece anchors the artistic process in spiritual practice. It draws a parallel to the teachings of President Henry B. Eyring regarding the importance of recording daily experiences to recognize divine patterns, noting, "If we write these things down, we will recognize more of them in our lives." This connection between the poet's notebook and the spiritual journal is compelling. It implies that the act of recording is an act of faith—a decision to believe that the moment matters enough to be preserved.
The Discipline of Recollection
The commentary moves beyond the initial spark of an idea to the often-grueling work of recollection. The piece challenges the idea that one must feel inspired to create, arguing instead for a commitment to the craft regardless of emotional state. "I give myself assignments: 'I must produce a poem today,' and show up to work whether I feel inspired or not," the text notes. This mirrors the concept of "emotion recollected in tranquility" famously articulated by Wordsworth, but adds a layer of modern discipline. The author warns against the trap of self-consciousness, where one lives merely to document life, comparing it to a "monetized personal blogger" who watches themselves rather than participating.
This is perhaps the most vital advice for the modern reader: true attentiveness requires unselfconscious living followed by deliberate reflection. The piece asserts, "My task at the desk, then, is to attend carefully to the subject. What is it really like? How does it look, or taste?" This sensory grounding is presented as a method to maximize experience, turning the act of writing into a way to "have 'life more abundantly'."
The Reader as Co-Creator
The argument extends to the relationship between the writer and the reader. Wayfare argues that poetry demands a different kind of engagement than prose, which is often used simply to convey information. "Poetry requires more interaction than prose," the piece states, inviting the reader to participate in the creation of meaning. The author uses the example of e.e. cummings' line, "nobody not even the rain has such small hands," to illustrate how a poem forces the mind to spark, to bridge the gap between the literal and the metaphorical.
This approach respects the reader's agency. "Instead of pounding a message hard and directly as prose would, poetry values the reader's active engagement so much that it risks misinterpretation rather than closing all gaps," the text explains. This is a bold claim in an age of clear, concise, and often reductive communication. It suggests that ambiguity is not a flaw, but a feature that allows for deeper spiritual and intellectual connection. The piece even draws a parallel to scripture, noting that "Jesus taught in parables, risking misinterpretation—perhaps even inviting multiple interpretations—saying that those with ears to hear would hear."
From Page to World
Ultimately, the goal of this attentiveness is not just to create a better poem, but to create a better observer. The piece argues that a successful poem should make the reader "more attentive to the world" after they have finished reading. "Perhaps a poet's role is to create more poets," the author suggests, echoing the biblical desire for all people to be prophets. The ultimate hope is that the reader returns to their daily life with a "new way of seeing in general," effectively receiving their own "Urim and Thumim."
"Ideally, a poet escorts the reader to the mountain from which, after the holy experience, the reader returns to his life carrying not just his new way of seeing the subject of the poem, but also a new way of seeing in general."
This final point transforms the reader from a passive consumer of content into an active participant in a spiritual practice. It aligns with the broader themes found in the companion deep dive on Denise Levertov, who viewed the poet as a priest and the poem as a temple. The piece successfully argues that the "work" of poetry is the mechanism by which we learn to see the world as it truly is, rather than as we habitually assume it to be.
Bottom Line
The strongest element of this piece is its reframing of creativity as a disciplined, accessible spiritual practice rather than a mysterious gift reserved for the few. Its biggest vulnerability lies in its heavy reliance on a specific religious framework, which may alienate secular readers, though the core argument about the value of deep attention remains universally applicable. For the busy professional, the takeaway is clear: the path to a more meaningful life is not found in waiting for inspiration, but in the daily, faithful act of paying attention."