Six months have come and gone since my last blog post. Instead of writing I went on an epic book binge. With each book my heart grew bigger, my soul lighter. Never once did I suffer from a feeling guilt or gluttony. Just happiness. My library–and brain–expand. Shelves overflow. No. Bulge. I’ve run out of bookmarks.
Our living room can now be called our library, with new shelves lining walls, stacked with the potential to run away. A comfy chair, a table, foot stool, warm blankets– I’m ready. Where is the snow to keep me inside? I cancel plans–yes, a confession–so I can turn the page.
Start a book on the history of colors. Pivot to poetry, scattered on the floor around my chair like seeds in earth. Does it matter how many autobiographies of Bowie I own? Novels read in one sitting. Novels begun but not finished. Not because they aren’t well written, but because they are. The idea of them ending, heartbreaking.
So I join a subscription service. Two. Books arrive with illustrated covers. Covers all in black with white block letters suggesting the seriousness of what’s inside. I binge on feminist manifestos, literary journals, novelists from Norway and Brooklyn, mystery novels, classics (ah, Mrs. Dalloway!), and books so heavy I consider reading them an act of physical exercise (thank you Mark Danielewski).
Everywhere I go a book in my bag. An actual book with pages smelling of vanilla and glue. I sneak a peek at what others are reading. Do you like that book? I’ve read that book! Smiles exchanged. Off the plane, the train, I walk with a head filled with narrative: “Mrs. Dalloway would buy the flowers herself” (Woolf) and, “The cat does not offer services.” (Burroughs). My phone pings. A text from my bank: a deposit has been made. Pay day! There is a bookshop 4.2 miles away. Seated in the back of an Uber I anticipate tables of freshly published books. Hoping for a cat, if it’s an independent shop. Definitely my arms filled, wishing I could ignore my obligations, and continue my binge.
As an English Lit major I suffered through Chaucer but fell in love with Hopkins. Due to my obsession with the Outsiders (the novel by S.E. Hutton) I memorized Nature’s First Greenis Gold by Robert Frost, but cried my way through both the Iliad and the Odyssey. What a misfortune to be taught poetry is painful, something to get through instead of enjoy.
Back in the nineties I participated in a poetry workshop with the poet Tina Barr. Ten of us sat in her bohemian-styled living room while a doctor read, out loud, his epic poem. Slightly lost in his meandering prose, I watched a cat lap up water from a crystal chalice on top of an antique set of drawers. This workshop wasn’t always about avoidance. In fact, I learned to love poetry because of the eclectic voices sharing their feelings and world view in this art form.
As I wrote my own poems, I began to realize poetry was more about feeling–aroma–less about uncovering deeply hidden meanings. Poems were a way to connect with others, to be part of a community outside my own bubble.There is more than one way to write and experience a poem. To write poetry we need to understand poetry’s past in order to create something new. But to be a reader of poetry we need only to come to the page open minded, leave taking what you need.
I left the workshop armed with questions to bring to every poem I read, and now share with you:
How did this poem make me feel? Why? What words inside the poem lead me to my understanding? Did I read the poem out loud to let the words come from my tongue, to hear the rhythm?
If you haven’t read poetry since high school or college, don’t be afraid or hesitant. Not all poetry is difficult. When the poet does her job well she has created a poem for us that is communal, with language invoking a feeling or sentiment. Advice: read only poems which speak to you–why waste your time otherwise?
I’ve complied a list of my favorite, easy-access poets (no dactylic hexameter here) and poetry sites. Enjoy your venture into this art form!
Poetry is meant to be heard, which is why Poetry Slams are an awesome experience. A person cannot help but get swept up in the emotion of a slam.
Check out the United States Poet Laureates. The current poet Laureate is Juan Felipe Herrera. Our libraries are well stocked with the works of our poet laureates. Of visit one of the many poetry websites, like the Poetry Foundation, to both read and hear our nations best poets.
Literary Magazines are a fantastic way to discover poetry. Often overlooked in the magazine rack of your local bookshop, these gems house emerging writers and famous names. Not just poetry, you will also discover short fiction and visual art.
My recommendations for Poetry are a few contemporary poets whose work I find easy to access (no headaches here) and don’t overtly rhyme (I kinda hate when words overtly rhyme). My list includes: Mary Oliver, Anne Sexton, Erica Jong, Charles Bukowski, Billy Collins, Maya Angelou, and Ocean Vuong. To read poems, by these and hundreds of others, right now, visit the Poetry Foundation
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf,
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day
Nothing gold can stay.