For an hour or two I forgot who I am and I thought it sounded like fun to take an online class from Hillsdale College. I got halfway through the first reading before I decided The Iliad is as dry as a fart. Oh, Homer, it’s me not you.
Poetry and I have a complicated relationship. I want to like it, really I do. But when it comes right down to it I’m really really lazy. If I have a choice between reading poetry and staring off into space, well, I can see for miles. The poetry I know and like is stuff that got sneaked in on me. If it wants to hang out in my brain, poetry needs to be stealth.
“Little drops of water, little grains of sand…” I know that one because I illustrated it in my seventh grade caligraphy class. Imagine hour glasses and clocks and perfect blue drops of water. I recently wanted to carve it into some posts around our property for a sweet little surprise for whoever happens to be passing by but Cindy has said she likes that poem and now it would just seem like I’m biting off from her which I wouldn’t normally mind because she’s awfully smart, but this time it just seems weird. Besides it looks like Carney reworked this poem many times so I can’t find online the exact version that’s in my head.
Do you know this one? “My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song. I thought that love would last forever. I was wrong.” I guess it’s mushy and sentimental and maybe too obvious and besides was featured prominently in a popular movie and besides is supergay, but it moves me.
My favorite poem these days is “Noise” by Pooh by A.A. Milne. Except for the poohing part.
NOISE, BY POOH
Oh, the butterflies are flying,
Now the winter days are dying,
And the primroses are trying
To be seen.
And the turtle-doves are cooing,
And the woods arc up and doing,
For the violets are blue-ing
In the green.
Oh, the honey-bees are gumming
On their little wings, and humming
That the summer, which is coming,
Will be fun.
And the cows are almost cooing,
And the turtle-doves are mooing,
Which is why a Pooh is poohing
In the sun.
For the spring is really springing;
You can see a skylark singing,
And the blue-bells, which are ringing,
Can be heard.
And the cuckoo isn’t cooing,
But he’s cucking and he’s ooing,
And a Pooh is simply poohing
Like a bird.