According to Osho, poetry isn’t merely revolutionary; it is revolution—a total metanoia that shifts us from aggressive, power-seeking reason to loving, celebrative feeling. Poetry means meeting existence with wonder, nonviolence, and compassion, living as a mystic rather than a politician. It is not argued or 'told' but embodied and shown; it drops the fight and befriends life.
Poetry is living with open-hearted wonder that replaces fighting and ambition with love and presence.
From the Discourses
Passages where Osho speaks to this question — each links to the complete discourse.
Norman o. Brown has said: 'the next generation needs to be told that the real fight is not the political fight but to put an end to politics. From politics to metapolitics. From politics to poetry.' in what way is poetry revolutionary?
POETRY IS not revolutionary, poetry is revolution -- because poetry is a totally different vision of life. Poetry is a metamorphosis, a metanoia. Poetry means looking at life with wonder, looking at life as if it is a mystery, looking at life and celebrating it. Poetry is not just poetry, it is approaching existence with love. Science is a rape because basically reason is a rape -- and poetry is a love affair. Reason is aggressive, reason is violent; poetry is non-violent. Reason thinks; poetry feels. We have built a world around thinking and it has failed, it has failed utterly. In the world of prose, in the world of logic and reason, the politician becomes very, very important. In the world of feeling, in the world of poetry, in the world of love, the mystic will replace the politician. Reason is ambitious, it wants to capture power. Why does…
Question: Second question: Osho, are you against social revolution? “These dust-motes adorned the rough face of the earth’s beauty”—the beauty of the world was sustained by these poor and humble ones. “These very motes lit the lamps of civilization”—these very poor ones lit the lamps of culture and civilization. “These motes turned the pale cheeks of history Rose-bright with the glow of their own faces”—they colored the pages of history with the luster of their faces. “The gardens of kings and prophets flourished”—by them the gardens of emperors bloomed and blazed with color. “While these poor souls remained autumn-hued and withered”—but their own state remained like a perpetual fall. Spring kept arriving in the royal gardens because of them—their flowers were nourished by the color of the people’s blood—yet their lives knew only autumn.
What is a poet? What is poetry?
The scientist is approaching reality as a male mind. It is the masculine approach: conquer nature. And the poet approaches reality with the feminine mind: surrender, be receptive, open up to reality, be in a letgo, relax. Religion is neither male nor female; it is just a witnessing of both. But the scientist is very far away from religion; the poet is a little closer. That's why I sometimes talk about poetry and the poet, because before you can become transcendental you will have to learn how to be poetic. Science is taught by the society, by the school, the college and the university. Poetry is missing. Because it has no market value, nobody cares about it. If you have a poetic approach, your approach is so private it can't be used by the society. And in fact you may be a little problematic to the society, because you will…
Bliss is poetry. It is not science, it is not logic, it is not mind, it is not prose. It is art, it is dance, it is music, it is love: it is poetry. And one has to learn the ways of being poetic; they are totally different. In the world mathematics is needed, not music; logic is needed, not love. So the world teaches you to be logical, but logic destroys your love, which is far more valuable because it is through love that you will know god. It is through being poetic that there is a possibility of knowing the beauty of existence. It is tremendously beautiful, but we need a different perspective to see the beauty, a different vision, a different approach, a different context altogether. Ordinarily, what we have been taught is not poetry. We have been brought up in a very calculative way.
Question: First question: Osho, I don’t know much Hindi, and I’ve never written anything either, but ever since you came into my life you have brought poetry along with you. Yesterday you said, “Remain aware, don’t miss.” So you tell me—what will happen now! When you’ve made me drink so much, you tell me to come to my senses! Sitting on your pathway, holding our breath, we fell, intoxicated, from your goblet. I stagger so I cannot rise; and if ever I rise, who knows how we’ll reach, beloved, your abode? No sense of night or dawn—who knows when we were sacrificed in your name? Since the tavern of your love opened its doors, all these beautiful mad ones came to drink, clutching their hearts. What colorful mad lovers—your hue is something new, for they moved on from the business of the world.