“Most people don’t spend a lot of time thinking about poetry,” observes the actor Ethan Hawke🔗. “They have a life to live, and they’re not really concerned with Allen Ginsberg’s poems, or anybody’s poems... Until your father dies, you go to a funeral, you lose a child, somebody breaks your heart, they don’t love you anymore. And all of a sudden, you’re desperate for making sense out of this life. Has anybody ever felt this bad before? How did they come out of this cloud?”

Or as James Baldwin said:

“You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read. It was books that taught me that the things that tormented me most were the very things that connected me with all the people who were alive, who had ever been alive.”

— James Baldwin🔗

I love that way of thinking about art. The literary critic Kenneth Burke wrote, “Poetry is equipment for living.” A poem is not just a shiny object for us to gaze upon and admire, but a practical source of insight and solace that helps us navigate and understand our lives by putting language to express ineffable feelings.

But how do you find a poem that will speak to the moment? My problem is that I never know what poem or poet to turn to.

Lately, I’ve been using ChatGPT to point me in the right direction.

Conversations with ChatGPT

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ChatGPT 4o
I just said goodbye to my mom at the airport. It always makes me so sad to say goodbye to her. Maybe because she’s getting older. If poetry is equipment for living, what poem can I refer to in this moment?

The idea of poetry as “equipment for living,” drawn from Kenneth Burke, is so fitting for moments like these. One poem that speaks to the bittersweetness of love and the passage of time is Mary Oliver’s “In Blackwater Woods”. It offers a quiet reminder of how to hold onto what’s most meaningful, even as we face impermanence. These lines might resonate:

To live in this world you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.

The poem acknowledges both the depth of love and the inevitability of change, but also the strength in carrying that love forward. It’s a tender guide for navigating exactly the kind of emotions you’re feeling now.

II

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my friend is struggling because his adult son resents him and is no longer speaking to him. if poetry is equipment for living, suggest a poem that might make him feel better, and provide an excerpt

I’d suggest “The Gift”🔗 by Li-Young Lee. It’s a deeply tender poem about a father passing down both care and wisdom, which might help your friend reflect on the enduring significance of the love he’s given, even if it’s not acknowledged right now. Here’s an excerpt:

From “The Gift” by Li-Young Lee:

To pull the metal splinter from my palm my father recited a story in a low voice. I watched his lovely face and not the blade. Before the story ended, he’d removed the iron sliver I thought I’d die from. I can’t remember the tale, but hear his voice still, a well of dark water, a prayer. And I recall his hands, two measures of tenderness he laid against my face, the flames of discipline he raised above my head.

This excerpt highlights the intimate, loving gestures a father makes-gestures that remain in memory long after specific words or actions fade. Even when there is distance or resentment, the deeper connection of care and tenderness can remain as a quiet undercurrent.

suggest another relevant poem

Another meaningful choice might be “Those Winter Sundays”🔗 by Robert Hayden. It reflects on a father’s silent, steadfast acts of love and sacrifice, and the speaker’s later realization of those unspoken gestures. It can serve as a poignant reminder of the complexities and unacknowledged expressions of care that often shape parent-child relationships.

Excerpt from “Those Winter Sundays” by Robert Hayden:

Sundays too my father got up early and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold, then with cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday weather made banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him. ... What did I know, what did I know of love’s austere and lonely offices?

This poem’s reflection on a parent’s love — expressed not in words, but in daily acts — might offer solace and perspective, encouraging your friend to hold onto his own silent contributions and remember that love often resonates in ways that take time to be understood.

I shared these with my friend and he responded, saying: “I’m overwhelmed. Thank you, my brother. Thank you for all the effort and wisdom and patience. I count my lucky stars that (the real) JD is in my life.”

III

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My friend is going through a really rough time. His girlfriend wanted to get married soon. It felt too fast to him and he hesitated, she got upset and they broke up. If poetry is equipment for living, suggest a poem to comfort him in this time.

Here’s a poem that might speak to your friend in this moment:

“The Layers” by Stanley Kunitz🔗 A powerful meditation from someone who has lived through grief, transformation, and renewal.

I have walked through many lives, some of them my own, and I am not who I was, though some principle of being abides, from which I struggle not to stray.

It’s a poem about moving forward when the road disappears beneath your feet.

wild geese?

Ah — yes. That’s a gorgeous and pitch-perfect suggestion: “Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver.

It speaks to someone lost in grief, someone who feels they’ve failed, someone who’s not sure where to go next. But it holds the door open — gently, mercifully — to return.

“Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting — over and over announcing your place in the family of things.

This poem says:
You do not have to be perfect to be loved.
This isn’t the end. The world still wants you.