Our grandchildren’s children—perhaps even another generation beyond them—will be the ones to truly know the “Goddess of the New Century.” Our generation does not yet know her. When will she appear? What will she look like? What songs will she sing? Whose hearts will her voice move? How high will she elevate our era?
These questions may seem distant, yet in today’s fast-paced, information-saturated world, many might conclude: poetry has lost its significance.
Some ask, “Who reads poetry nowadays?”
Others declare, “Poets’ verses may soon only grace prison walls, glimpsed furtively by a few curious souls.”
Poetry seems to have become marginalized. It’s no longer just an expression of beauty and emotion; instead, it gets dragged into partisan squabbles—whether through verbal battles or actual bloody conflicts.
Some believe poetry must be “useful” to justify its existence.
But others disagree. They say, “No, there are still people who want to read poetry.”
For instance, when someone feels exhausted and emotionally hollow after work, they might spend a little money at a bookstore to buy the most popular poetry collection.
Others enjoy free poetry—like reading a few lines on supermarket packaging—which serves as a form of relaxation.
This approach is cheap and convenient. In an era where everyone is rushing to keep up, affordable and hassle-free options are always popular.
Where there’s demand, there’s supply. This proves poetry isn’t dead.
Will poetry in the future become a “fantasy,” like music has?
Like fantasizing about flying to Uranus in a spaceship—it sounds cool, but no one takes it seriously.
Is discussing this meaningful? Probably not.
But do we truly need to ask these questions?
If we calmly consider: What exactly is poetry?
Some scientists say so-called emotions and thoughts are merely nerves in motion.
Joy, sorrow, excitement, even a racing heartbeat—all are nerves “vibrating” within the body.
Each person is like an instrument, with many “strings” within.
So who plucks these strings?
Who makes them resonate?
It is the “spirit”—an invisible yet tangible force.
It channels our inner feelings through our bodies.
When someone writes a poem, it is their spirit speaking.
When others read it, they too are moved—like another instrument hearing the melody and responding.
This is how humanity advances step by step. It was so in the past, and it will be so in the future.
Every era has its own poetry
Every century, every millennium, a new great poetry emerges.
It is born as an old era draws to a close, then strides boldly into the new age, becoming its emblem.
The era we now inhabit is one of roaring machinery, speeding trains, mountains blasted open, and hearts torn apart.
In this clamorous world, the “Goddess of the New Century” has quietly come into being.
We may not hear her footsteps, but she is truly there.
Her birthplace is not an ancient palace or a quiet forest, but the modern factory.
There, steam engines roar, locomotives race day and night, and workers bustle to and fro.
The “master without flesh” that controls all—the power of machinery and capital—now dominates this world.
But this goddess is different. She possesses a gentle yet resolute heart.
She understands love and possesses passion, yet she is not merely emotional.
She also possessed a clear mind and wisdom, able to discern the world’s transformations.
Her thoughts were as colorful as a rainbow, their hues shifting with the times.
Her attire was extraordinary—a cloak made of large feathers that enabled her to fly.
This garment wasn’t woven from ordinary fabric, but from the threads of science.
Her ability to soar stemmed from her mastery of natural forces—electricity, light, air.
Regarding her family background, her father is an ordinary man—down-to-earth, with a sound mind, earnest eyes, and a touch of humor in his speech.
Her mother hails from a distant noble family, well-educated, speaking with elegance and refined manners, with a slight flair for dressing up and enjoying life.
Thus, this goddess possesses both the sincerity of common folk and the refinement of nobility.
She embodies the fusion of two cultures.
She was showered with gifts from childhood
At her birth, the room was filled with gifts of every kind.
Nature’s secrets and answers piled around her like candy.
A diving bell brought beautiful shells and coral from the ocean depths;
A celestial map served as her blanket, painted with tranquil seas and countless islands—each like a world unto itself.
The sun painted pictures for her, and cameras snapped photos as her toys.
Her nanny told her countless stories.
Of ancient Norse singers who moved hearts with song, of the marvelous epic tales penned by the Persian poet Ferdowsi, of medieval German minstrels who wandered and sang.
She also heard poems by the young Heine, sensing that youthful brilliance.
She also heard many frightening tales, like the cursed and bloody stories told by her great-grandmother.
But she wasn’t afraid; instead, she listened with rapt attention.
She finished the entire Arabian Nights in just fifteen minutes—as quickly as eating candy.
She was a child, yet she had already outgrown the cradle.
She played in an enormous “children’s room.”
The walls hung with art: statues from Greek tragedies and Roman comedies, folk songs from every nation pressed like dried flowers.
A gentle kiss would revive these songs, releasing their fragrance.
The air hummed with music by Beethoven, Mozart, and Gluck.
These melodies held profound thoughts, sparkling like stars.
Bookshelves held works by many authors—some famous in life, their books enduring after death.
Others were new works by authors whose names arrived by telegram, soon forgotten.
She read many books—too many.
For she was born in an age of information overload.
Yet she would forget much too; the goddess had her ways of “clearing memories.”
She need not remember everything; she only needed to absorb the essence.
She hadn’t yet decided what she would do
She didn’t yet know how long her future songs would endure.
She didn’t worry whether her work would endure for millennia like the tales of Moses or ancient fables.
Nor did she dwell on how grand her future accomplishments might be.
She was still playing, still exploring.
But the world outside was anything but tranquil.
Nations were at war, the clatter of guns mingling with the clamor of pens, neither sound more significant than the other.
Words were as complex and impenetrable as ancient Norse runes.
She wore a hat in the style of Italian patriot Garibaldi, radiating passion.
Yet she read Shakespeare’s plays, and suddenly thought: “When I grow up, Shakespeare’s plays will still be performed.”
As for Spanish playwright Calderón? She remarked: “He can only lie in the grave of his own works, even if the tombstone is inscribed with praise.”
She was quite open-minded about the Danish playwright Holberg.
She placed his works alongside those of France’s Molière, ancient Rome’s Plautus, and ancient Greece’s Aristophanes.
But her favorite remained Molière.
She wasn’t as impulsive as an antelope, yet she yearned for life’s joys as deeply as an antelope craves the wild mountains.
A quiet feeling dwelled within her, like ancient nomads singing beneath the starry grasslands.
But this stillness could swiftly transform into fierce excitement—more passionate than ancient Greek warriors charging into battle.
Her Perspectives on Faith and Knowledge
What did she think of Christianity?
She had studied many philosophies and pondered the mysteries of the universe.
As a child, the elements of the cosmos caused her to lose a baby tooth, but a new one grew in quickly.
Even in her cradle, she had bitten into the “fruit of knowledge” and devoured it—thus becoming wise.
So the deepest thoughts of humanity shone before her like an unquenchable light.
So the question arises:
When will poetry’s new century dawn?
When will this goddess be recognized by all?
When will her voice be heard?
She might arrive on a spring morning, rumbling through tunnels and over bridges aboard a train;
Or riding a dolphin that sprays water, crossing the gentle yet resilient sea;
Or soaring through the skies atop a colossal divine bird.
Where will she utter her first words?
In Columbus’s New World? That land hailed as “Liberty”?
Yet there, indigenous peoples were hunted down, Africans enslaved.
There we heard “The Song of Warsaw”—a poem about this very land.
Was it on the “Golden Isle” across the globe, where day and night are reversed, and black swans sing among the mimosa?
Was it where the ancient Egyptian statues spoke? That sphinx of Menuh, said to sing when sunlight touched it, still echoes now, though we no longer understand the secrets of the desert’s Sphinx.
Is it that coal-rich island? — England.
Where Shakespeare has reigned over literature since the Elizabethan era.
Is it where Danish astronomer Tycho Brahe was born?
Yet he couldn’t stay there, forced to leave.
Is it in California’s fairy-tale land?
Where the tallest redwoods stand like kings of the forest.
When will the star between her brows finally shine?
That star is a flower, each petal inscribed with this century’s most exquisite forms, colors, and scents.
She is not a shadow of the past
Some ask: “What exactly does this new goddess intend to do?”
Politicians want to know her plans.
But the better question is: What does she not want to do?
She is not a ghost of the old era, reappearing in outdated attire.
She won’t cobble together a new play using the beautiful sets from past stages.
Nor will she use lyric poetry as a fig leaf to cover plot holes.
She has stepped down from the earliest theatrical carriages and onto the modern stage.
She won’t dismantle everyday language into fragments only to reassemble them into a tinkling music box.
She won’t regard poetry as aristocracy and prose as commoners—in her eyes, both are equally vital, equally potent.
She won’t labor to carve statues of Icelandic gods, for those deities are dead and irrelevant to our lives today.
Nor will she force clichéd plots from French novels into the hearts of modern people.
She won’t numb people’s senses with tedious tales.
What she brings is the “elixir of life”—something that awakens, invigorates, and energizes.
Her poetry and prose are simple and clear, yet rich in content.
The language of each nation is but a single letter in the great book of human civilization.
She regards every letter equally, weaving them into words and composing songs that celebrate this era.
When will her era come to fruition?
For those of us lagging behind, we must wait a while longer.
But for those already striding ahead, the new age is within sight.
China’s Great Wall will eventually crumble;
European trains will roll into Asia’s closed cultures.
Eastern and Western civilizations will meet and merge.
This may resemble a colossal waterfall, roaring with earth-shattering force.
We of the “older generation” may tremble in fear, for we hear the “twilight of the gods”—the sound of the old world ending.
But remember: every era passes, every race vanishes.
What remains are but faint shadows, preserved in writing like lotus blossoms drifting on the river of time.
These shadows tell us: we are kin to the ancients, though clothed differently.
The shadow of the Jews is in the Bible; the shadow of the Greeks is in the Iliad and the Odyssey.
And what of our shadow?
When Twilight of the Gods arrives, go ask the goddess of the new age.
Then a new “paradise” shall emerge—a world brimming with justice, light, and wisdom.
The power of steam and the pressures of modernity are tools propelling history forward.
That “bloodless master” (machinery and capital), along with his assistants, are but servants.
They have prepared the banquet table, spread the tablecloth, awaiting only that great festival.
On that day, the goddess will light a beautiful lamp of poetry with a child’s innocence, a maiden’s passion, and a housewife’s steadiness and wisdom.
The flame of that lamp comes from the rich and full hearts of humanity.
O Muse of Poetry in the New Century, we salute you!
May our reverence soar to the heavens, where you may hear it.
Just as the earthworm’s gratitude reaches your ears—
When spring arrives, the farmer plows the field, severing the earthworms into pieces.
They are destroyed, yet it is for new life to flourish.
Their sacrifice ensures your blessings descend upon future generations.
Goddess of Poetry for the New Century, we salute you!
The Truth Behind the Story
On the surface, this tale is a fairy story about how the “Goddess of the New Century” is born, grows, and will guide future poetry and culture. Yet it is, in essence, a profound reflection on the social transformations of the late 19th to early 20th centuries.
When Andersen wrote this piece, the Industrial Revolution was transforming the world: trains, steam engines, telegraphs, and photography emerged as traditional agrarian societies rapidly gave way to urbanization and mechanization. People began questioning: In this age of efficiency and pragmatism, do poetry, art, and emotion still hold value?
The “Goddess of the New Century” symbolizes the future direction of culture and spirit.She is neither retrograde nor entirely abandoning tradition, but rather represents a new civilization that integrates science, democracy, multiculturalism, and humanistic care.
She is both intelligent and emotional, understanding the past while facing the future. Her emergence is not to repeat history, but to create a form of human expression more suited to the new era—that is, authentic, concise, powerful, and vibrant poetry and thought.
What Lessons Does This Story Teach Us?
- As Times Change, So Must Culture
Every era requires its own art and poetry. We cannot dwell solely in the past, nor can we entirely reject tradition. True progress lies in inheriting the essence, discarding the obsolete, and forging new modes of expression. - No Matter How Advanced Technology Becomes, Humanity Must Not Be Lost
Machines may boost efficiency, but they cannot replace love, dreams, or creativity. The goddess is powerful precisely because she possesses a “heart”—emotion, wisdom, and responsibility. - Everyone Can Be a ‘Poet’
Poetry isn’t confined to rhyming words. Any language that sincerely expresses the heart and moves others is poetry. Whether through writing, speaking, painting, or living life with earnestness—all can be “poetry.” - Change Always Comes with Pain
Just as an earthworm is severed by a plow, the old must yield to the new. In society’s progress, some will inevitably be hurt or left behind. But we must remember: sacrifice is for a brighter future. - Hope always lies ahead
Even if we cannot yet see the goddess, she is already on her way. As long as we maintain kindness, pursue truth, and cherish life, we are not far from that brighter new era.
So don’t ask, “Is poetry still relevant?”
Instead, ask: “Can I become a voice that makes the world more beautiful?”
