Rather than daily hijacking the comments section of my pal Whit's
posts, I'm going to attempt to remember how to blog consecutively for
days and days - maybe even a whole week!- on my own dusty old blog so
that I, too may participate in the festivity of Poetry Month.
Aside from the occasional odd nursery rhyme or humorous limerick, my poetry appreciation as a youth can best be summed up thusly:
I never saw a purple cow,
I never hope to see one.
I can tell you anyhow,
I'd rather see one than be one.
Though I would sometimes find myself
speaking lyrically,
or stuck in a verbal rhyming loop,
I didn't realize
back then that one
could enjoy poetry as much as I now do (doop?).
I never thought I would read the stuff on purpose, much less have an app or two on my phone.
Like a good sandwich or holy matrimony, enjoyment came down to finding those built of quality ingredients.
Magnetic poetry helped, too.
As did Keillor, Collins and Updike which begs a nod to The New Yorker,
too. As unlikely a preferred publication for me as the poetry it turned
me on to, I started picking up library discards for the comics and found myself lingering longer and
longer over the surrounding literary contributions; poetry and fiction
especially.
Today I would not share with you my favorite poem. Who can narrow it down to just one? Rather, I invite you into a moment.
Isn't that what poems do after all ?
The date is June 25, 2013. Garrison Keillor is on sabbatical from his long running The Writer's Almanac and Billy Collins is guest hosting. The chosen poem for the day is "Baseball" by John Updike. Now, I must admit that I prefer Updike's storytelling to most of his poetry but this moment is poetic serendipity.
