In Parade Magazine several weeks ago, a reader asked why his tax dollars were going to support a poet laureate of the U.S. when no one reads poetry anymore. Never mind that, for now. . .
I’ve been ruminating on the “when no one reads poetry anymore” bit for some time–not just ruminating on how I would defend poetry to this person, but thinking more about where to send someone who is new to poetry; what should he or she read first? Like that great scene in “The Time Machine” by HG Wells, I have found myself thinking about which three (poetry) books I would offer to someone new to poetry. Or rather, which poems to read at the beginning of a possible love affair with poetry?
Many of us were exposed to poetry as young children, either through books, or the Bible, or the old 45’s and their story-book slipcovers, or perhaps a family member who loved reading poems out loud to us. I cannot remember what the first poem I heard was, or when I fell in love with poetry, or how. I wish I could–if only to explain for myself how I became a poet. What I do remember is that from a young age, I was always enamored with writing down my observations–sketches, fragments of words, collections of items pasted into little books I carried around with me; perhaps this is the beginning of understanding poetry–understanding the desire to record observations.
I wrote many of my first poems in grade school, thanks to creative teachers who loved language, and programs that placed poets into my middle school and high school classrooms .The first poem I ever memorized (that wasn’t an assignment from a teacher) was accomplished because I wanted to win the love of a high school crush; it was John Boyle O’Reilly’s poem–the red rose breathes of passion, the white rose breaths of love, oh the red rose is a falcon . . . I was drawn to this poem because of its romantic qualities (and it was easily memorized! I copied it over and over and over, and then finally included it in an anonymous love letter to the boy–slipping it into his high school locker).
I had been writing my own, sappy love poems for some time–and then, thanks to Mr. Curran at Oceana High School, I fell in love over and over again for an entire year as we slogged through Sound and Sense. Tennyson and I had quite a torrid affair; I was fickle with Shakespeare, but my-girl crushes on Plath, and Sexton were wild nights, for sure. When Mr. Curran took a semester off, Ms. Howard introduced me to the wicked 50s and 60s poets of the Beat generation. I fell hard for Kerouac–San Francisco City Blues–and Ginsberg. I still believe there’s something special in the beats which speaks particularly to teenagers. After that, I was a pretty voracious reader. Komuunyakaa was an early (and continuous) love, and Li-Young Lee, and Mary Oliver have kept me good company at different moments throughout the years.
Lately I find myself revisiting poets I’d forgotton I’d ever read–the ones that many of us groaned over in high school and college. Perhaps one of these poets would be the best introduction–but would I have someone new to poetry read God’s Grandeur first? Or perhaps The Windhover? Maybe something contemporary– Kevin Young? Many of my friends would disagree with Maya Angelou, but her poetic justice got a whole bunch of kids reading poetry for a bit, despite the Razzie ‘awards.’ Whether or not they kept reading, I don’t know.
Where and to whom would you send someone new to poetry? And more important, why would you send them there? What do you think poetry does for the world? For the individual?
I’ve been reading Why Poetry Matters by Jay Parini. It is a wonderful argument in defense of poetry and its ability to — as Parini says — save us. More on that later. For now, I’m heading off to the poetry shelves for a bit.