A Critical Appraisal of Andrew Tate’s Poetry

Is this the greatest poet of all time? No.

The attribute that is most typically used when talking about the likes of Andrew Tate and their sudden, temporary prominence is “meteoric”. The definition according Merriam Webster: Resembling a meteor in speed or in sudden and temporary brilliance. While this certainly is a fitting (and clichéd) way of talking about it, I would prefer using the adjective “icarian” since it adds a moral and for that matter, more poetic dimension to the tale of Tate–the tale of one man’s limitless ambition thwarted by the limits of ignorance. In this case, it is at the hands of the internet powers-that-be which have sent him sprawling from the heights of social media glory to the dark and churning depths of cancellation below.

If you do not know who Andrew Tate is, the only information necessary for this post’s purpose is to know that he is/was a prominent influencer of the “manosphere” who for a short period of time this year reportedly became the most Googled man on the planet before being promptly deplatformed from the social media networks where he built his following. This would normally not be of any interest to this website–I have no intention of writing about Meghan Markle or Kim Kardashian here–were it not for the fact that the man writes poetry too, and not just any kind of poetry, but from the horse’s mouth:

My instagram poems are probably the finest literary works in the history of the English language.

Perhaps he was joking when he said that but in my candidness I believe his self-indulgence is real and that he attaches supreme value to everything he creates. For that reason am I putting it under the critical lens, no other. I believe anybody should be able to delve into the craft of verse without being critically excoriated but if you then become publicly known and, not least, state to hundreds of millions of people that your work is the greatest in the history of the language, well then you better live up to your word, mate, or else.

While Tate’s narcissism is certainly off-putting, particularly considering that he calls himself a Christian, it is certainly nothing that makes his poetry bad per se. I can think of good poets throughout history who were probably just as vainglorious as Andrew Tate and who wrote many fine poems for no other reason than for the publicity.

With all that said, let’s get underway. I will be looking at three poems that are in fairly wide circulation. I am assuming that they are representative and of high quality since Tate has discussed these himself. I am further keeping them with their punctuation, spelling and grammar mistakes since for the benefit of the doubt they might actually be intentional. Each of them are written in loosely rhymed quatrains. This first one is untitled.

I show less than I have to stay tasteful
Still catching hate cause they’re hateful
Too much food out the gate it’s a plateful
Now your girls full of tate and she’s grateful

I show less than I earn cause I’m humble
Your bitch in my ride coz you fumbled
Yes I hear couple pussydem grumble
But they don’t try n step I don’t stumble

I show less than I know I’ve stopped talking
Split the bullshit from truth I’ve been clocking
See me sit n don’t speak like im hawking
But there’s feet behind talk bitch i’m walking

I show less than I love but I miss her
Thinking back to the day that I kissed her
She left a sore on my heart there’s a blister
Fuck the next best thing that’s her sister

This is somewhat surprisingly technically grounded. The dominant metrical foot is the anapest with exclusively feminine end-rhymes being used. There are also some examples of internal rhyming (Now your girls full of tate and she’s grateful) and an anaphoric anchor in each of the stanzas starting with the phrase “I show less than…”

The poem is, of course, about Andrew Tate, and about how he is far more profound than what his exterior puts on. The first three stanzas are in praise of his modesty (yes), not only regarding his material possessions but also his intellect. The last, and the most interesting, since it suggests a softer side, is about lost love and how Tate gets revenge on his former lover by copulating with one of her near relations.

The next one has a title. it’s called Battle scars:

We had it all to lose, we had it all to gain
I know it hurts you when you hear my name
There’s no sun without rain. No joy without pain
Who ever makes souls made ours the same

Distance kills fake love and shows you what’s real
I know the deal, I can play heart of steel.
The distance seems to make it much harder to heal
Give me one night of your touch, just one more feel.

I’m fuckin some bitch and pretending it’s you
I fuck a new one each day since we said we were through.
I check my inbox and just tear through the queue
I can’t sleep at night what else should I do

I’m kissing this bitch and remember your lips
I’m missing your touch while she’s suckin the dick
Got battle scars girl guess I finally got hit
But I’m a champion and I was made for this shit.

Metrically this tends towards the iamb in the first two stanzas and towards the anapest in the last two. Once again, this is a lament for absent love (is it the same love interest from the first poem?). There is a suggestion that a physical distance has made their relationship impossible (stanza two) and he is filling the absence this has created through coition with other partners on a daily basis. There is no feeling of resentment towards his former lover here–he mentions that he has been hurt through her loss, but since he is the highly qualified individual that he is he just moves on in life.

The final one is once again without a title. It goes like this:

Every time I leave there’s tears in her eyes
She knows how I’m earning and wants me alive
The struggle is finished but I still only strive
Understand it’s how life taught me to survive

Every time Im moving there’s a strap no doubt
I don’t respect the law so why travel without
It’s rained and it’s poured I even built up a spout
The withouts want my buckets when living in drought

Every time we fuck I crush my soul into yours
We mix pain and insane with Eiffel Tower tours
I collect cash quiet behind double locked doors
Without profit to make there wouldn’t be wars

Money has no value so I give time with the don
You’re in love with my brains obsessed with my brawn
Enemies won’t stop now the guns have been drawn
I just hope you still love me after I’m gone

Top G.

Yet another love poem (what a sweetheart he is!). This is vaguely iambic. He uses anaphora in the first three stanzas with the adverbial “Every time…”.

This poem centres less on Tate’s sentiments than it does that of his beloved. It is about how sad she is when he is not present. Why should she be sad? Well, because he lives a dangerous life (he doesn’t respect laws, he has dealings with organised crime syndicates, his enemies are armed, etc.) and she knows that he might not come back alive (–“after I’m gone”).


This is not, by any accounts, good poetry. The simplistic vulgarity speaks for itself so I will not write more on that, but on a more basic level the poems need far more elaboration, not only to make the content more profound but just to tidy up a lot of the clumsier details. Once again, leaving the orthographical and grammatical mistakes aside, this poetry rife with clichés (i.e. “There’s no sun without rain. No joy without pain”; “It’s rained and it’s poured”, etc.), and just incongruences. For example, why is the third poem, which is about Tate being absent from his lover because of his dangerous lifestyle, suddenly interjected with this silly detail about them going on guided tours of the Eiffel tower?.

I have not read any other poems by Tate but I would imagine that they all read more or less the same. I am not encouraging Tate to stop writing poetry, but if he wishes to write better verse then he must also understand the limits of his skill. He claims he is a believer and therefore he ought to understand better than the atheist that one is only exalted in humbling oneself. In the meantime the main piece of advice that I would give Tate is to read more. There is a painfully conspicuous absence of poetic vision here and this stems principally from a detachment to a poetic tradition. His verse is one that simply has one point of reference: rap lyrics, and like most rap lyrics the universe of Andrew Tate’s poetry concerns three things: his riches, his “bitches”, and his ego. If that is all your art has to go off, your poetry will forever be confined to the dust heap.

Andrew Tate: go to a library and borrow a good anthology of English language verse, or more simply why not just peruse the anthology I have created myself?

19 thoughts on “A Critical Appraisal of Andrew Tate’s Poetry

  1. You’ve gotta admit that you’ve got atleast a little bit of grudge against him, don’t ya ( ?? ?? ??)

  2. While I, like you, disrelish both Tate and his poetry, I think your assessment of the latter is grounded—at least in part—by your contempt for him on an ideological level, which, if you’re aiming to appraise his work genuinely, should be a little more subtle (and perhaps subdued).

    To an extent, his themes are childish, poetically unadorned, and basic. But who are we to be judging their value (in the context of Tate’s authorship, I mean), especially when “visionary” historical writers like Joyce—whose poetry you’ve neglected to include in your own anthology—frequently wrote about pornography and the less-than-conventionally-moral boons of sexual intercourse?

    What I intend to convey is that regardless of Tate’s lyrical, grammatical, and typographical inconsistencies (of which, to reiterate, there are many!), I don’t agree with the notion that his poems’ vulgarity and emphasis on the “playboy” lifestyle are grounds to conclude they’re inherently “bad.”

    Plenty of poems considered “profound” today are, in my opinion, of questionable value.
    But I still respect their authors’ poetic intentions, however ridden they are with lyrical platitudes, and try to pepper my appraisal with a fair dose of neutrality (to be honest, though, how much I can muster up each time varies considerably; in this regard, it’s not hard to see why you—especially if you’re a woman—would find doing so far too generous for a man like Andrew Tate).

    As a reader of the classics, I stick to them with an almost religious avidity, rarely making exceptions for more modern material (i.e., after 1959); I am, however, put off by your belittling of rap lyrics.
    Above all, they constitute an expressive medium, and as with ANY expressive medium, the content therein exists in a colossal spectrum of morality and thematic depth. I don’t think it’s fair to dismiss the genre simply because of the fact that it’s rather inadequate for consideration in “high culture,” so called, and for scholarly evaluation; it’s equally as worthy of respect as any other written medium.

    In any case, I doubt Tate’s errors are, as you (doubtfully) put it, intentional; he’s far from well-read and, as it happens, dismisses reading as a “waste of time.” (His brother Tristan, to the contrary, seems to have been quite the readerly type as a child, demonstrating an acute knowledge of the classics in some of his videos. I’m a thirteen-year-old male, so his content frequently pollutes my YouTube feed.)

    Thank you for reading this; I apologize if I extensively mischaracterized your beliefs.

    1. Thank you for your lengthy and eloquent comment. I will firstly lay my cards on the table concerning Tate by saying that yes, I do not like his online persona one bit and think he is taking advantage and exploiting insecure young men to promote himself and make money off them. I further believe his message to be very damaging. I do not, however, think that this influenced my critical evaulation of his poetry. There are many poets who in reality seem to have been rather repudiant individuals, yet whose poetry I can independently enjoy (Larkin, for instance).

      The subject matter of Tate’s poetry per se is not what makes it bad. As you mentioned, good authors can write about similar topics, it’s just that if this is all your art can express (and as far as I have seen every single Tate poem is about the exact same thing) it really is an indication of intellectual and artistic shallowness.

      I understand that my comment about rap lyrics might seem dismissive. I agree with your assessment that they are a genuine medium of artistic expression but taken as poetry juxtaposed alongside purely “poetic” works in the canon they are very, very superficial. Andrew Tate’s poems read like rap lyrics but he has himself characterised his works as “poems” and hence I read and evaluate them as such. Taken all in all there is very litte that is redeemable in them

      Thank you for your time in writing your comment and reading the article. I thoroughly appreciate it.

  3. bruh you cleary dont like tate so your analysis on his poems are biased. therefore you arent fit to judge him on his poems. this works the other way around when theres someone who does like tate because then he also be biased towards. if you want to have an accurate analysis on his poems you must be unbiased but you clearly arents

  4. I stole perfect beauty from her eyes
    I watched pain draining as she cried
    I bear the stain of endless lies
    I guess I’ve learned that love can die
    I stole the things that made her kind
    She won’t act right, made up her mind
    But she can see that I’m not fine
    I guess they lied, love isn’t blind
    Now she won’t give me what I need
    Won’t respect the values of my creed
    It was my greed that made hearts bleed
    But now I dream of being freed
    No more obligation for the chore
    I’m living one leg out the door
    Yes it’s my fault that her heart is sore
    But I just don’t want her anymore.
    This is a good one without the “vulgarity”

  5. Doth thine poetry?
    Josh Hutcherson whistle memery??
    Wilfried Owen, Edgar Allen Poeyatt
    Tate should be compared to the greats

    Opinion biased I see
    What thought have you of thee
    My next question is tame
    Do doth doubt Andrew Tate’s fame
    Stay in your lane.

    Sincerely Bottom G.

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