Thursday, January 02, 2014

Poetry I have loved

Melanie, over at The Wine-Dark Sea, intends to put up something beautiful every day- a poem, a painting, something. That's a wonderful idea, and I'm going to try to do it at least sporadically, which is about how much initiative I have energy for. That was a terrible sentence, but I am drinking leftover champagne and only got about three hours of sleep in total. Sue me. No, don't- I don't have any money. I could only pay in cinnamon buns.

I started a poetry game on Facebook yesterday or the day before- post poems, and connect them. It was fun, and I read some good poetry I'd never seen before (like the Lord Byron poem Ogden Nash is referencing in Very Like A Whale). I knew I had a bunch of very literate Facebook friends, and it was a pleasure to read their selections. 

When I'm very tired I tend to get poems stuck in my head, running almost subconsciously, and they're selected mostly for metre instead of meaning. So I get Rudyard Kipling's Boots 
( Seven—six—eleven—five—nine-an'-twenty mile to-day —
Four—eleven—seventeen—thirty-two the day before —
(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again!)
                There's no discharge in the war!)
Or maybe "My Dark-headed Kathchen/My spit-kitten darling.." Or Tolkien's "There was a merry messenger/A passenger, a mariner/ He built a gilded gondola/To wander in, and had in her..."

What I get in my head is the feeling and the rhythm, and even when it's driving me mad (No more terrible Anne McCaffrey Pern poetry, dammit! I want to go to sleep!) I am grateful for the love of words and their rhythm. I am decidedly unmusical, and I dance but I don't think I understand dance, art, or music on a very visceral level. Words I get. The music of words is my internal music. And I am grateful.

No comments: