Why Some Believe “No One Reads Poetry”

In the modern book industry and even among library professionals, there’s a recurring lament: “No one reads poetry anymore.” While this statement might sound exaggerated, it reflects a deeper truth about cultural shifts in how people engage with language and art. There are several reasons why poetry has become marginalized in popular readership—ranging from perceived difficulty and lack of exposure to changing entertainment preferences and social misconceptions. Yet for some, these very challenges make poetry all the more thrilling and vital.

One of the primary reasons people avoid poetry is its perceived difficulty. Many readers find poetry hard to understand because of its dense language, abstract ideas, and layered meanings. A poem doesn’t always yield its message immediately; it requires patience and rereading. The rhythm, metaphor, and symbolism can feel daunting compared to straightforward prose. Personally, I find these aspects invigorating—much like a marathon runner preparing for a 25k race. The challenge itself becomes part of the joy. But perhaps that’s just me; not everyone seeks such mental and emotional endurance from their reading.

Another factor is a lack of exposure, especially during formative years. Poetry is often underrepresented in school curricula, or when it is presented, it’s done in a way that feels inaccessible or detached from students’ lives. I discovered my own love—no, obsession—with poetry as a child in school. I vividly remember encountering a Shakespearean sonnet in the third grade. It was presented separately from his plays, and I was so intrigued, so stirred, that I begged my teachers for more. Mr. Lockheart, my teacher, had a complete volume of Shakespeare tucked away in his classroom. Instead of going to recess, I would sit quietly as he taught another class, reading Shakespeare in the corner. I didn’t keep this up for long—his gruesome plays were a bit rough for an overly sensitive third grader—but the experience left an indelible mark.

From there, my fascination grew. I soon discovered Robert Frost, whose quiet, thoughtful verses resonated deeply. I was intrigued to learn that Americans initially dismissed him, and that it took European acclaim for him to be recognized at home. Then came Emily Dickinson, whose reclusive brilliance and posthumous fame captivated me. Her wish that her writings be destroyed—and the irony that her work instead illuminated the literary world—fascinated me endlessly. And, of course, I devoured Shel Silverstein, whose wit and whimsy turned poetry into something both playful and profound. These poets became my childhood heroes.

Yet modern preferences have shifted. In today’s fast-paced, digital world, people crave immediacy—quick entertainment, scrolling satisfaction, and bite-sized media. Poetry, on the other hand, invites reflection and contemplation. It demands stillness in an age of motion. Unfortunately, that makes it a hard sell for the average reader. I suppose I am cursed in this regard, because I adore words themselves—their texture, their history, their music. I’m especially drawn to the linguistic inventiveness of Shakespeare, who freely created new words to suit his needs. That freedom to shape and expand language thrilled me. My early reading included not only Shakespeare but also the King James Bible and the original tales of King Arthur—works written in a form of English I could barely understand. But rather than being discouraged, I became obsessed. It felt as though language were an encrypted code I needed to crack open to reveal its hidden mysteries.

Cultural misconceptions also play a role in poetry’s fading popularity. Many see it as outdated, irrelevant, or overly sentimental. Popular media rarely portrays poets as figures of admiration—in fact, they’re often the punchline, the “nerds” of the literary world. Poetry becomes the quiet kid in the corner while the “cool kids”—novelists, filmmakers, social influencers—get the spotlight. But to me, poetry is the cool kid: introspective, mysterious, brimming with hidden depth. It’s just that most people don’t look closely enough to see it.

Finally, competition with other media has reshaped cultural habits. With the explosion of digital platforms, television, video games, podcasts, and endless streams of content, poetry must compete for attention in ways it never had to before. It’s not that poetry is dead—it’s simply been confined to the sickroom, waiting for readers to rediscover its quiet pulse. Those who do find it are often transformed by the encounter, discovering in poetry a mirror of their own humanity that no other art form quite replicates.

In truth, the claim that “no one reads poetry” is more of a cultural assumption than a reality. People still crave beauty, meaning, and connection—exactly what poetry offers. The challenge lies in helping them see that poetry isn’t an archaic puzzle but a living, breathing expression of life itself. For those willing to slow down, listen, and engage deeply, poetry remains not only alive, but timeless.