I hope you keep an open, or even enthusiastic, mind about poetry. I know it isn't easy. We don't have poets reading or showing their work on tv. In general, the subject of focused imaginative use of words and phrases doesn't come up. Sure, Shakespeare's sonnets and Rumi's love poetry are arresting. They are helpful today and inspiring and beautiful. But the Bard lived going on 500 years ago and Rumi about 300 before that. Their stuff is beautiful and inspiring but don't think that there are not people now who can make your day with a single line.
Who?
Well, try Mary Oliver. She is called America's best selling poet. I have been reading her "One Thousand Mornings" and nearly every poem stops me. Too good to rush on. When I taste a chocolate truffle or brie or our friend's walnut cranberry pie, I have to pause. Reverence, reverberations of delight and appreciation and gratitude followed by another shot of delight, admiration and gratitude take over for a little while. A good poem is an entire work of art and may represent a day or a week's work. So, it is simply unfair to quote much of her stuff.
I did quote her "Poem of the One World" in Twitter the other day but I shouldn't have. Maybe you won't tell her. I came to this today after reading her "The Moth, The Mountains, The Rivers". It, like many of her poems, is worth quoting but I am not going to cheat her again. I will say that her imagination got to me. I often think of a stone as the embodiment of calm, of satisfaction with existence, with acceptance of being what one is. But Mary Oliver realized there are many stones. Some of them may be bored out of their minds. I never thought of that. But I suddenly have the sympathy she was trying to teach me. I am going to be more empathetic and gentle around stones. Maybe everyone and everything.
Or, try George Bilgere. No? Ok, Billy Collins. His titles alone are energizing: Sailing Alone Around the Room, Horoscopes for the Dead. Maybe from the library or for your birthday, when people who love you don't know what to give you. If you have a Kindle, you may be able to borrow one. I borrowed Bilgere's The White Museum. The Collins poem "What She Said is worth the price of the whole book and starts "When he told me he expected me to pay for dinner, I was like give me a break." Lovers of language and manners can begin to imagine where a sharp-eyed writer goes from there.
What is poetry? In today's world, for me, any sort of communication with words that perks up with imagination and word sensitivity. Here is a friend expressing delight with a set of books just waiting to be read:
Main blog: Fear, Fun and Filoz
Main web site: Kirbyvariety
Who?
Well, try Mary Oliver. She is called America's best selling poet. I have been reading her "One Thousand Mornings" and nearly every poem stops me. Too good to rush on. When I taste a chocolate truffle or brie or our friend's walnut cranberry pie, I have to pause. Reverence, reverberations of delight and appreciation and gratitude followed by another shot of delight, admiration and gratitude take over for a little while. A good poem is an entire work of art and may represent a day or a week's work. So, it is simply unfair to quote much of her stuff.
I did quote her "Poem of the One World" in Twitter the other day but I shouldn't have. Maybe you won't tell her. I came to this today after reading her "The Moth, The Mountains, The Rivers". It, like many of her poems, is worth quoting but I am not going to cheat her again. I will say that her imagination got to me. I often think of a stone as the embodiment of calm, of satisfaction with existence, with acceptance of being what one is. But Mary Oliver realized there are many stones. Some of them may be bored out of their minds. I never thought of that. But I suddenly have the sympathy she was trying to teach me. I am going to be more empathetic and gentle around stones. Maybe everyone and everything.
Or, try George Bilgere. No? Ok, Billy Collins. His titles alone are energizing: Sailing Alone Around the Room, Horoscopes for the Dead. Maybe from the library or for your birthday, when people who love you don't know what to give you. If you have a Kindle, you may be able to borrow one. I borrowed Bilgere's The White Museum. The Collins poem "What She Said is worth the price of the whole book and starts "When he told me he expected me to pay for dinner, I was like give me a break." Lovers of language and manners can begin to imagine where a sharp-eyed writer goes from there.
What is poetry? In today's world, for me, any sort of communication with words that perks up with imagination and word sensitivity. Here is a friend expressing delight with a set of books just waiting to be read:
The potential here is so exciting.
This is like a big bowl of my favorite candy.
It's like the fridge filled with all my favorite stuff.
It's like the anticipation of a great vacation which is drawing nearer.
It's like a whole bunch of presents under the tree, all for me.
It's the promise of peaceful hours sitting out on my deck, and until then it's the very real experience of sitting on my comfy couch with the woodstove beautifully blazing and warming me.
So much comfort.
Main blog: Fear, Fun and Filoz
Main web site: Kirbyvariety
