I have lots of books of poetry, so deciding which to devote my mornings to requires some thought. I've been easing toward this moment, though, and was able to pull four books from my shelf as possibilities: an anthology of world poetry from antiquity to the mid 20th century, and collections of Pablo Neruda, Richard Wilbur, and Robert Frost. The first I'd started on and had been enjoying when the whirlwind of rebuilding my life hit. Pablo Neruda is a much-lauded poet I'd read little of and been curious about. Richard Wilbur and Robert Frost both tend strongly toward formal rather than free verse poetry and I've been wanting to reconnect with form, especially blank verse, after spending nearly all of my adult life reading and writing free verse and enjoying the experimentation of the moderns. Perhaps my own slowing down makes dah dum dah dum dah dum more congenial to my spirit. Perhaps it's because in middle age I'm less concerned as a poet in expressing myself (in fact, I've arrived at a place where I feel I have nothing to say) and thus am freer to turn my mental energy toward better understanding and appreciating matters of form. What poetry has to say matters less to me now than it once did, so I'm less concerned that form be chosen to fit or allow the message. Also, it doesn't offend me to spend time writing in form for form's sake with nothing of import to say, or to read poetry whose virtue is largely in the execution of form. Of course, as always, the greatest pleasure is when one gets multiple fireworks of meaning and music.
Because translations are always mutations full of compromise, I decided against reading the anthology and Neruda at the same time. (Somewhere along the line, I decided to choose two books to alternate between.) I sided with the anthology because I'd enjoyed reading it so much earlier. It seemed there were surprises around every corner and the editors clearly had a sense of humor. Neruda will have to wait. Between my formalists, I sided with Frost. He seems a good place to get grounded before reading Wilbur, and Frost's frequent choice of rural subject matter appeals to me at the moment. Years ago, I read a collection of Frost and was surprised how little of his poetry I liked. I'm curious to see to see if that has changed.
So it will be poetry from around the world and through the ages, and Robert Frost to start with, in portions I won't try to predict.
About Me
- JP Poetry Reader
- During a period of illness, I developed a habit of reading poetry every morning. Reading poetry was hardly new to me, having gotten my degree in English, but this was the first time I'd done so as a regular habit. I found it a gently stimulating way to begin my day. I felt the practice both uplifted and grounded me, sort of tuned me for the day. It was one of the few experiences from my illness that I wanted to preserve in my post-illness life. However, returning to work and rebuilding my life has had me functioning at the edge of my energy reserves and the practice of reading poetry in the morning got lost. Now my life has settled enough for me to recapture that practice. I approach poetry as an "average" person, as a scholar, and as a sometime writer of poetry. I read for pleasure but also as a craftsperson interested in learning from others. My responses vary from gut reactions and general impressions to comments on form. I hope by sharing I will bring to light poetry others may also enjoy and will hear others' opinions, but I confess this journal is primarily for my own benefit as a way to slow down and digest what I read.
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