My book group for writers met at my house last night. Not only did it compel me to give the slanty shanty a good scrub behind the ears, but it gave me the opportunity to dwell in poetry for a good portion of the day. That's a good place to be. One I'd forgotten about for a while.Most of the year our group reads novels and stories and essays, but in December we read poetry to each other, not for critique or for any in-depth discussion, but simply because we love it. At least, some of us do. What a great thing, to have friends in my house with stacks of poetry books by their side, reading and re-reading.
I laugh. My neighbor brings his friends together every weekend to watch college football on a TV tucked into the corner of his tiny patio. They drink and cheer and thrill over it. I bring my friends together and we sip wine and tea, nibble at cookies and scones and read Wallace Stevens and Mary Szybist. I will never love football. They will never love poetry. Sad for both of us, in some ways.
It's not that I'm a rampant consumer of poetry. I wish I read more widely and understood more deeply. But I try. A poetry book gets into my hands once every few months. It should be every day. I've tried a poetry new year's resolution but it was something vague, without any kind of daily dedication. Maybe I will try again. A poem a day. I'll start with the Poetry Foundation's daily poetry offerings in audio. Why don't you join me? Maybe then we can gather some weekend and drink and cheer and thrill over what we find.
Posts
What a great idea. I'm in!
ReplyDeleteOh, if I could have only dropped in. Why is there no easier way to travel than on jets?
ReplyDeleteMy brain made a funny connection just before Christmas. It seemed that every e-mail kept telling me that "there was still time!" to buy, buy, buy. It made me think somehow of the Love Song of J. Alfred Proofrock:
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate.
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
So, I doubt it will be a poem a day. But know that I will be reading on occasion and could use suggestions of poets of note. Raising my cup to poetry and toasting the new year from this side-o-the country!
Thanks Lynda...Haven't read that since college. I love that "time to murder and create."
ReplyDeleteWish you could have been here too. I'll be sure to share any sweet findings along the way.