You can write for hours on hours, And sometimes you might feel like a word,

Of all the things you wish you could be, That nobody has learnt to define,
But the truth of the matter is simple, You might not be a star that lights darkness,
People are not poetry, Or a bird that can teach us to soar,
And I know that you wish you weren’t awkward, But it’s okay, because you’re too complex,
That sweet words could roll right off your tongue, To be crammed into one metaphor,
But your time here’s too short just to worry, It’s okay not to know what you’re doing,
How each single sentence is strung, Since your feelings don’t have to all rhyme,
It’s okay to be rough round the edges, Though a poem once complete is eternal,
To be bruised up and broken and scarred, You have the freedom to change over time,
But it’s not okay to let people tell you, You’re much more than can ever be written,
That it’s a reason to change who you are, There is no title to say, “This is me”,
Your hair doesn’t always sit nicely, You can’t be trapped in the lines of a notebook,
The way a poem sits so neatly on line, Because people are not poetry.
I would like to read and discuss today one of my favourite poems. The poem is called You can write for hours on
hours, written by Erin Hanson. Erin Hanson is a twenty years old Australian girl and is one of the few modern poets
I enjoy. So let us read and get to know the poem.
(Read the poem)
So, to my mind the author of this poem touches upon several important themes as the theme of self-acceptance, self-
assertion, perfectionism, the question of one’s personality. Throughout the story, we can notice that the author
compares people with poetry. In the author’s point of view, poetry is something “eternal” perfect because it “sits so
neatly on line” because in a poem everything “has rhyme”. From all this lines, we feel like the author loves poetry
and is passionate about it. However, she sympathizes more with the people. It is revealed in the lines when we read,
“you’re too complex” “You have the freedom to change over time” “You’re much more than can ever be written”.
In addition, all poem is written in form of an appeal to humanity or to one person in particular as the repetition of
pronoun you points this. It may seem that the author urges us to accept and love ourselves as we are. Using the
contrast between the life of the poem and the life of a humankind the writer suggests that we can be different unlike
the written poem, we “cannot be trapped in the lines of a notebook” This idea is reinforced by the lines “You have
the freedom to change over time, You’re much more than can ever be written”.
The use of numerous metaphors as : “ sweet words could roll right off your tongue; Your hair doesn’t always sit
nicely, The way a poem sits so neatly on line,; But it’s okay you’re too complex, to be crammed into one metaphor, “
used to describe our uniqueness. It reinforces the reader’s awareness of self-acceptance and love towards themselves
and each other as well. The idea is that we can be perfectly imperfect and it is okay as the writer repeats herself 3
times.
The repetition people are not poetry has been used twice to persuade the reader to agree that we are not permanent
as poems, we have are weaknesses, rises and falls. We cannot be always wonderful and perfect as poetry but still we
are also special.
One may also assume that in this poem the word “poetry” stands not in its direct meaning but symbolizes the
society’s perception of perfection and its needs to attain it.
In conclusion, I would like to say that this poem impressed me very much through its language and sense. It ends
with the idea that we are always changeable and have power to do many things but the poetry is trapped in a
notebook. This means that we are free, we do not have frames
Hurricane |ˈhʌrɪkən| ураган, буря
Thunderstorm |ˈθʌndəstɔːm| гроза
Earthquake |ˈəːθkweɪk| землетрясение
volcanic eruption  | vəlkənic ɪˈrʌpʃn| извержение вулкана
Drought |draʊt| засуха
Landslide |ˈlændslaɪd| оползень, обвал
Blizzard |ˈblɪzərd| метель
Avalanche  |ˈavəlɑːnʃ| лавина, снежный обвал
Enough |ɪˈnʌf|  достаточно, довольно