According to some, April is National Poetry Month. (
Pace
siderea: what nation? The Nation of Internet.) My brother is a poet, and I feel like a bad sister for not paying enough attention to poetry, not really having any opinions about it let alone engaging with the form. So I'm going to make some attempt to mark the season.
The other day I was talking to a friend from synagogue and he spontaneously recited WH "Supertramp" Davies'
Leisure. It is an utterly terrible poem, it's Hallmarky and bathetic and doesn't even really scan properly. But my friend still has it by heart from his schooldays some three quarters of a century ago. I wonder if when I'm in my 80s I will be able to recite
Stopping by woods on a snowy evening (which I learned for a recitation competition when I was seven) or some of the mostly Romantic poetry I learned from my father.
Talking of recitable, rythmic verse,
legionseagle posted a rather good
Kipling pastiche recently. It's very common to write more or less parodic versions of
If, but surprisingly hard to do it well.
I've also been moved by several less formal, almost tending to the blank verse pieces recently.
ursulav made a poignant post reaching out to Muslims in the wake of the Boston attacks and the inevitable wave of racism in response. And someone in the comments posted a
snippet by Adrienne Rich which maybe helps, if anything can help in the face of shocking violence like that.
And in a locked discussion, a friend linked to a poem called
Hair published in Stone Telling. That touched me somewhere very deep. It's not literally true of how I feel about my hair, but it's a poem, it's not a political manifesto for me to sign up to or refute. I'm not genderqueer in the way Gurney describes in that poem. But it's true that my hip-length hair is a part of who I am that is much more significant than the fact that I happen to be female, and it's also true that people make assumptions about my gender because I have very long hair. And I don't think I can claim the fierceness of that closing line:
This is the flag I bring to the battles of my days.
, not for myself, but I am somehow heartened to know that someone out there is saying that.
highlyeccentric is one of the people who have been posting a bunch of poems, not just for April but for the whole of 2013. There's a lot of stuff that is completely new to me, some I bounce off because I don't have the degree of literacy in poetry I do in prose, and some I really like. In particular, this piece entitled
The failure of language, by Jacqueline Berger (according to Wiki a contemporary American poet), really meant something to me. I want more people to see:
Everything we love fails, I didn’t tell my students,
if by fails we mean ends or changes,
if by love we mean what sustains us.
Language is what honors the vanishing.
Or is language what slows the leaving?
Or does it only deepen what we know of loss?
I am even considering copying it into my book of true things, which a dear friend gave me a long time ago when I was dealing with loss, loss of a friend and loss of a childish worldview built on a sense of fairness. Except in the 15 years since I've never quite found anything I'm certain enough of to write in the book, it's remained blank. If I wrote poetry, I'd write something about the symbolism of a friend comforting me with the gift of a blank book, and how it still comforts me that I might one day find something true enough and important enough to write down in it.