Poetry today—and what happened to magic?

Let’s be real for a moment.

What’s the practical use of poetry? Why learn it?

If we’re talking about magic, maybe there would be answers. But in today’s world, magic is fiction—at least, that’s what we say. The closest thing we have are tricks performed by magicians at birthday parties and celebrations. Maybe curses and supernatural things still exist somewhere, but if they do, they are rare… or well-kept from spreading.

So let’s say this as our working truth:

We all once knew how to use magic. Every one of us. We once held that capability—but something happened. And because of that, we lost both the ability and even most of our compatibility to use it.

Now, let’s return to the original question—but replace poetry with magic:

What’s the practical use of magic?

Why learn it?

With the technologies, innovations, and inventions we have today, magic would be obsolete anyway. So why bother?

The answer is wonder.

We learn it because we must honor what once was. More than that, we must understand the very soul of things.

Magic, as explained by a certain fictional instructor—Glenn Radars from Akashic Records of Bastard Magic Instructor—is about tugging at the very core of reality. The heart of things.

And in a way… poetry does the same.

I was also reminded of another fictional teacher—Professor Keating from Dead Poets Society. There is a scene that stayed with me—one that felt like it was speaking directly to me:

--

“We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion.

"Medicine, law, business, engineering—these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life.

“But poetry, beauty, romance, love—these are what we stay alive for. To quote Walt Whitman: ‘O me! O life! … of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless… of cities filled with the foolish—what good amid these, O me, O life?’

“Answer: That you are here—that life exists and identity; that the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

"That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse."

---

I won’t repeat it here, but the feeling remains. That quiet realization—that we are here, that life exists, and that we are allowed to take part in it.

And then the question follows:

What will your verse be?

That question stayed.

Going back to magic and poetry, they share something in common: the heart, the existence, the very core—the soul.

Magic still exists in our daily lives, though it has become small… almost trivial. But it is still there. Have you noticed the small miracles that happen? Have you taken the time to see the quiet wonders around you?

That, too, is magic.

There are no spells anymore—but maybe there were never just spells to begin with. Maybe the real requirement was awareness.

And poetry is the same—but deeper.

It’s true that a red ball is bouncing.

But have you noticed who is bouncing it?

Who is with them?

What do their faces say?

Are they smiling—or are they tired?

Have you noticed the reflection in the child’s eyes?

Who is being reflected there?

And beyond that reflection… is there more?

This is the kind of magic we get to explore.

These are the things that give soul to what would otherwise just be lines and verses.

And if one can notice—truly notice—then one can also create.

So, for the sake of imagining:

If you were given the ability to use magic again, what would you do first?

What would be the first word you speak?

Would you even use words at all?

Or would it be like the characters in stories—casting without incantations, shaping things through pure intent?

But surely, there is something more than that.

And just like with poetry—

What will your verse be?

It’s not a simple question.

It feels more like a challenge.

Not just “I think, therefore I am.”

But something closer to:

I think… therefore there is.

Or something like that.

If I’ve made you think a little deeper than usual, then maybe something worked.

Maybe this is what poetry is now.

Not spells.

Not magic as we imagined it.

But something quieter.

Something that still reaches.

Something that still connects.

And if you felt even a small shift while reading this—

then maybe, in some way,

something was cast.

So again—

What will your verse be?