I’m not a big poetry fan. Maybe I’m lazy. Maybe I’m dense. Maybe I’m just wound too tight to try to wander through the implied, the subterfuge, the allegory of it all.
Often times, I’ll read a poem and can’t help but think of one of my favorite lines from “You’ve Got Mail.”
“I could never be with someone who likes Joni Mitchell. ‘It’s clouds illusions I recall/I really don’t know clouds at all.’ What does that mean? Is she a pilot? Is she taking flying lessons? It’s probably a metaphor for something, but I don’t know what.”
Sometimes, a girl just wants bird to just be a damn bird already, not someone’s metaphor for their crappy childhood or gluten sensitivity.
Now before all you poets out there burn me in effigy, let me say I suspect the real reason I haven’t latched on to poetry is because I just haven’t taken the time to find many poems that resonate with me. Except Shel Silverstein. His stuff was pretty cool when I was a kid.
But I digress.
I might not be a a huge fan of poetry, but I do love language. I love words. Especially words. Lilliputian. Osculation. Flautist. Coccyx. Globule. Discombobulate. Skullduggery. Flummoxed. Untoward. Gossamer. Don’t those just roll of the tongue? Aren’t they just positively mellifluous? Oooh, there’s another! Now say them with a British accent. They are even better! Why, I don’t know, but they are!
Pretty words, even ugly words that evoke feeling just with the mere sound of them, are becoming a lost art. I use words like ebullient or furtive in a Facebook post or in conversation and I am met with…with…derision. But words like hangry make the American lexicon? Seriously?
Recently, when another blogger liked my page, I took some time to explore hers. Drat…poetry! Keeping an open mind, I browsed and found this little gem, P.S. I Love You, on a blog titled Unbolt. The author actually used conjugations, dipthong and the F-word in a poem. I laughed. I read it three times. I walked around saying dipthong in my head all afternoon and trying to come up with examples of words that are dipthongs (foil, pie, toil by the way).
So I’m giving poetry another chance. Because any medium that can be so salacious and include the F-word and dipthong with such ease is definitely worth a second chance.
Bring on the poems and the poets. Byron. Shelley. Whitman. Dickinson. And maybe a dirty limmerick or two.