Do you read poetry, he asked me; and I,
I shook my head no and watched the dark eyes
lose all interest and look elsewhere
Saw the faint contempt and the little sneer
And I went to a fair, a book-fair, a place where
they sold books from anywhen and everywhere
and I bought there a Whitman in memory of a movie
and there I bought nine little anthologies
Elliot Shelley Keats Poe Dickinson
Hardy Wilde Emerson Tennyson
Dover Thrift Editions, emphasis on thrift
And I went home and I read Nevermore and thought
I think I prefer the short stories to verse
And I put the little volumes by the untouched Whitman
and I forgot them as I forgot the boy
And I read my fiction and loved it and unaware
I loved all the poetry that came my way
Nonsense and sense verse in Lear, Carroll, Blyton,
Kipling, Dickens, good old R.L. Stevenson
All the quotes people quoted and put in my head
in spite of myself, and I still never saw
And instead I wrote free verse steeped in loneliness
And fancied myself a poetess
I will read you poetry, he promised, and quoted
things that set my mind tripping along
unexpected paths and forgotten alleys
voyages of invention and discovery
I would quote poetry, I thought
Till now, I saw no poetry in poetry, no romance
And still I do not see beyond someone's personal story
But I would quote it, just the better
To express myself
Came home one afternoon, sprawled on the floor
Sat herself down with the Anthology;
Complete, Unabridged, Annotated, tooled in leather
of one Mister William Shakespeare
The sonnets! she cooed, and read aloud
The ones that were her favourites.
I would know poetry, I thought
Understand the art not to quote it
but to know if I love it or hate it
Do you like poetry, he asked me, for I,
I love it, and know it and quote it, do you?
No, I said, for I cannot tell
The bad poetry from the good, but I would
I would love poetry, I thought
Read it to know what I'm missing, so tried
I picked up the Eliot and read Prufrock and cried
At the yellow fog and the Michelangelo
And wondered why I'd never read poetry before
7 comments:
*whistle*
and others would read your not-poetry and deem it Poetry-
this tripping verse that has the heart and the soul
the words and the flow
hello
what else could it be?
And a compliment
from a stranger
leaves me smiling again
Thank you :)
yes.. while pome is about pomes, it's also about the extent to which we go to please a certain special someone.. right am i?
loved it
mo
I was recommended your poetry, it's really nice;
I liked it so much, I read it through twice!
I can't hardly wait for the very next post;
But make it quick, oh poetic host!
[mo] Thank you, marie :)
Not really about things we do to please others, but more about how we end up learning something anyway :)
[gd] Thank you sir, for kind comment
I can never resist a compliment
Be sure the reason I posted so quick
was your laying it on so thick :)
Michelangelo? Hardy? Wilde? These were not poets, Nor dickens or rl stevenson.
U must be off your rocker.
No wonder u fancy yourself as a poetess.
Flight of fancy, just shows how far it can go
*sigh*
Dear Mr. Vichchoo
I don't know you. That's the first thing.
You don't know me. That's the important thing.
Merely commenting on everything I've written whether or not you understand what's going on in my head is not going to make you my friend.
I'm not haughty, just cautious.
Thanks for dropping by.
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