Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Gary Snyder’s "What You Should Know to Be a Poet" is both a manifesto and a personal philosophy, outlining a broad and deeply intuitive approach to poetic knowledge. The poem rejects any narrow academic definition of poetry, instead advocating for a poet’s education to be rooted in direct, embodied experience of the world—its natural systems, its mystical traditions, its human relationships, and even its extremes of suffering and ecstasy.

Snyder begins by situating poetic knowledge in nature, insisting that a poet must know "all you can about animals as persons." The phrase suggests a rejection of hierarchical thinking, where humans stand above animals, and instead promotes an animistic worldview, one in which animals possess personhood and agency. This aligns with Indigenous and Eastern spiritual traditions, which Snyder often references in his work. He expands this requirement to include the "names of trees and flowers and weeds," as well as "names of stars, and the movements of the planets and the moon." Such knowledge anchors the poet in the tangible world, reinforcing the importance of direct observation and environmental awareness. Snyder insists that poetry should not be abstracted from reality but rather deeply embedded in it.

The poet must also cultivate "your own six senses, with a watchful and elegant mind." The mention of a sixth sense implies a perception beyond the physical, whether that be intuition, mystical experience, or an awareness of interconnection. To be a poet is not just to see, hear, or feel, but to be fully attuned to experience in an "elegant" way—suggesting refinement, grace, and deliberation in one’s perception.

Snyder next embraces esoteric traditions, requiring familiarity with "at least one kind of traditional magic: divination, astrology, the book of changes, the tarot." These ancient systems of knowledge, often dismissed in rationalist discourse, serve as alternative ways of understanding existence, rooted in archetypes, symbols, and the rhythms of nature. The inclusion of "dreams" further acknowledges the unconscious as a source of poetic insight, alongside "the illusory demons and illusory shining gods." The repetition of "illusory" reinforces the Buddhist idea that all perceptions—whether of demons or deities—are projections of the mind. A poet must navigate these visions, acknowledging their power while understanding their impermanence.

At this point, the poem makes an abrupt and visceral turn, pushing the poet toward transgressive and disturbing experiences: "kiss the ass of the devil and eat shit; / fuck his horny barbed cock, / fuck the hag, / and all the celestial angels / and maidens perfum’d and golden—" The crude, almost violent imagery suggests that to be a poet, one must confront and engage with the full spectrum of existence, including its grotesque and forbidden aspects. There is an echo here of the Beat ethos, the embrace of excess and the breaking of taboos as a path to deeper truth. At the same time, Snyder balances the celestial with the profane, acknowledging both the "devil" and "angels," implying that a poet must not choose between light and darkness but must fully inhabit both.

After this extreme moment, the poem pivots again to a grounding truth: "& then love the human: wives husbands and friends." Having explored the realms of the cosmic and the chaotic, the poet must return to simple human love and connection. The spacing of "wives husbands and friends" conveys a quiet reverence, a sense that in the end, it is these relationships that matter most.

Snyder then embraces the everyday world of childhood and modern culture: "children's games, comic books, bubble-gum, / the weirdness of television and advertising." A poet must not be confined to lofty or ancient wisdom but must also engage with the absurd and ephemeral artifacts of contemporary life. This inclusion of pop culture suggests that poetry does not belong solely to the past or to nature but is also found in the mundane and commercialized present.

Perhaps the most surprising demand Snyder makes is for poets to embrace "work, long dry hours of dull work swallowed and accepted / and livd with and finally lovd." This stands in stark contrast to the romanticized idea of the poet as a free spirit who avoids the drudgery of labor. Instead, Snyder insists that true poetry comes from living fully, including the tedium of work, exhaustion, hunger, and rest. This echoes his Buddhist values—seeing work not as a burden but as a practice, a way of being fully present.

The poem concludes by turning toward intensity and transcendence: "the wild freedom of the dance, extasy / silent solitary illumination, entasy / real danger. gambles. and the edge of death." The progression moves from communal joy ("dance") to individual mystical experience ("silent solitary illumination"), using the word "entasy"—a lesser-known term meaning an internal, spiritual awakening, as opposed to the outward explosion of "ecstasy." The final requirement—"real danger. gambles. and the edge of death."—suggests that poetry is not an intellectual exercise but a high-stakes pursuit that demands risk, vulnerability, and direct encounters with mortality.

Snyder’s "What You Should Know to Be a Poet" is a challenge, a checklist, and a philosophy of poetic existence. He presents poetry as something that requires total engagement with life—its natural rhythms, its mystical traditions, its mundane realities, and its wild extremes. The poem rejects any notion of poetry as detached or purely intellectual; instead, it insists that to write truthfully, one must live fully. From learning the names of trees to standing "on the edge of death," a poet’s knowledge is not confined to books but extends into the body, the senses, the cosmos, and the unknown.

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