"Anybody who writes doesn't like to be misunderstood"
About this Quote
Writers trade in ambiguity, yet they bristle at being misread. MacCaig’s line captures that contradiction with a dry, almost shrugging bluntness: “Anybody who writes” sounds democratic and casual, but it’s a sly universal claim about a very private wound. The sentence is built like a small trap. It begins broad, then tightens to a personal sting: the desire for clarity collides with the inevitability of interpretation.
The intent isn’t to demand obedience from readers so much as to expose the writer’s vulnerable stake in the transaction. Writing is a one-way broadcast launched into weather you can’t control; misunderstanding isn’t just an aesthetic glitch, it’s a threat to agency. To be misunderstood is to lose custody of your own meaning, to watch strangers tell you what you “really” meant. For a poet, that’s especially fraught. Poetry invites multiplicity, but it also depends on precision: sound, image, and cadence are chosen with obsessive care. Misreading can feel like someone grabbing the wrong end of a carefully made tool.
MacCaig’s context matters. A Scottish poet often associated with clear diction and exact observation, he wrote against the romantic fog that can cling to “poetic” language. This line reads like a defense of honesty over mystique: don’t confuse difficulty with depth, don’t confuse openness with anything-goes. It’s also a quiet admission of ego, the kind writers pretend not to have. The poem may outlive the poet, but the poet still wants, stubbornly, to be met accurately while they’re here.
The intent isn’t to demand obedience from readers so much as to expose the writer’s vulnerable stake in the transaction. Writing is a one-way broadcast launched into weather you can’t control; misunderstanding isn’t just an aesthetic glitch, it’s a threat to agency. To be misunderstood is to lose custody of your own meaning, to watch strangers tell you what you “really” meant. For a poet, that’s especially fraught. Poetry invites multiplicity, but it also depends on precision: sound, image, and cadence are chosen with obsessive care. Misreading can feel like someone grabbing the wrong end of a carefully made tool.
MacCaig’s context matters. A Scottish poet often associated with clear diction and exact observation, he wrote against the romantic fog that can cling to “poetic” language. This line reads like a defense of honesty over mystique: don’t confuse difficulty with depth, don’t confuse openness with anything-goes. It’s also a quiet admission of ego, the kind writers pretend not to have. The poem may outlive the poet, but the poet still wants, stubbornly, to be met accurately while they’re here.
Quote Details
| Topic | Writing |
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