An article published in The Standard by Dennis Weche raised important concerns about the way poetry is taught and examined in Kenya’s education system.
In the article, The Poetry We Are Losing and Why Every Generation Needs It, published on July 4, 2026, Weche lamented that poetry has increasingly been reduced to an exercise in identifying literary devices rather than appreciating its deeper meaning.
“Poems have become repositories of stylistic devices. Students are trained to identify symbolism, irony and alliteration, yet seldom invited to experience the mystery, music and emotional truth that make poetry endure,” Weche observed.
Literature scholar Prof. Egara Kabaji has previously expressed similar concerns in his Literary Discourse column.
I agree with these reservations for two principal reasons.
First, poetry is fundamentally about a vision of life. It presents a way of seeing the world, interpreting human experience and expressing profound truths about existence. That is what readers should primarily seek when engaging with poetry or any other form of literature.
The ancient Roman poet, satirist and literary critic Horace argued that literature should both instruct and delight. The substance of poetry lies not merely in its language but in its ideas, emotions, values and purpose. Words are simply the medium through which the poet communicates thoughts and feelings.
The greatest literary critics concentrated more on the ideas embodied in literary works than on stylistic ornamentation. The enduring power of literature lies less in the way something is said than in what is being said.
It was for this reason that Plato banished poets from his ideal Republic—not because of their stylistic brilliance, but because he believed the visions embodied in their poetry threatened his conception of the ideal society.
Literature, therefore, is much more than entertainment. It is an instrument of education and moral instruction. This educational value should remain central to the teaching of literature.
This is not to dismiss aesthetics. Literary devices enrich poetry and deepen readers’ appreciation of a text. However, they should serve as tools for understanding meaning rather than becoming the primary objective of classroom instruction.
Unfortunately, many teachers and examiners reverse this order. Students are often expected to catalogue metaphors, irony, symbolism and alliteration while paying insufficient attention to the ideas, emotions and worldview that give those devices significance.
At the junior and senior school levels, this approach can intimidate rather than inspire learners. Detailed stylistic analysis is more appropriately reserved for advanced literary studies at postgraduate level, where literary criticism becomes a specialised field.
Weche raised these concerns after a discussion by the Kakamega Book Club on Pablo Neruda’s Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair.
His frustration with the excessive emphasis on literary technique is understandable.
When students read Neruda’s poems, what captures their imagination is not the catalogue of metaphors or ironies. It is the ecstasy of fulfilled love and the agony of heartbreak. Many recognise aspects of their own experiences—or those of friends—in such poems.
Teachers and examiners risk missing the very essence of poetry when they ask students to identify literary devices while overlooking the poem’s emotional and philosophical significance.
The central concern of Neruda’s poetry is the human experience of love—its joy when reciprocated and its anguish when denied. Literary devices merely help communicate that experience.
For this reason, examination questions across all literary genres—including poetry, novels, plays, oral literature, essays, speeches and letters—should ideally allocate about 75 per cent of assessment to content and only 25 per cent to form and style.
Such an approach would encourage teaching that emphasises ideas, values, vision and meaning while treating stylistic devices as supportive rather than central.
Weche also argued that Neruda’s literary brilliance at a relatively young age demonstrates that wisdom is not necessarily linked to age.
Here, I respectfully disagree.
Neither Pablo Neruda, Arthur Rimbaud nor Christopher Okigbo proves that age and wisdom are unrelated.
Confucius observed:
“By three methods we may learn wisdom: first, by reflection, which is noblest; second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third, by experience, which is the bitterest.”
Reflection, imitation and experience all develop through education and maturity.
The remarkable achievements of Neruda, Rimbaud and Okigbo did not emerge in isolation. They benefited from rigorous educational systems, demanding curricula, excellent teachers and rich literary traditions.
The same can be said of Chinua Achebe, who wrote Things Fall Apart before turning 30, and Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, who published The River Between and Weep Not, Child while still a young man.
Mary Shelley was only 18 when she published Frankenstein, one of the most influential novels in English literature. Benjamin Franklin began attracting public attention at just 15 through his Silence Dogood letters. Martin Luther King Jr., Tom Mboya and Alexander the Great all achieved extraordinary accomplishments before the age of 40.
Their success was not accidental.
Each benefited from intellectual traditions accumulated over centuries, rigorous education, inspiring teachers and demanding standards.
Great education nurtures exceptional ability. It provides learners with outstanding teachers, quality books, intellectually stimulating environments and assessment systems that reward excellence rather than mediocrity.
Parents also play an indispensable role. They encourage curiosity, cultivate discipline and expose children to environments where talent can flourish. Alexander the Great, for example, was educated by Aristotle.
The late Prof. Chris Wanjala once remarked that literature transforms boys into men and girls into women.
That observation captures literature’s highest purpose.
Education at its best does more than impart knowledge. It transforms knowledge into wisdom.
Achieving that transformation requires rigorous curricula, inspiring teachers, outstanding books, supportive learning environments and assessment systems committed to the highest educational standards.
Finally, we should never underestimate the influence of childhood and youth in shaping exceptional individuals.
Whenever I read biographies, I pay particular attention to the formative years. I want to know who influenced these individuals, who taught them and what books they read.
More often than not, the explanation for extraordinary achievement lies not in the offices they later occupied but in the quality of education, mentorship and intellectual influences they encountered early in life.
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