Right now I am in a poetry mood. It all started when I began reading Savage Beauty, the biography of Edna St. Vincent Millay about a month ago. Since then, I’ve been reading bits and pieces from The Penguin Anthology of Twentieth-Century American Poetry, selected poems by Edna St. Vincent Millay, Poemcrazy, Foolsgold, and just about anything else I can get my hands on poetry related. I’m listening to music for it’s prose more than just as music. I want the meaning. And yes, I am even writing poetry. Nothing that has wowed me enough to share here, but it’s practice.
I’ve got this crazy blue eyes poetry thing going on, rambling bits and pieces about blue eyes. How this relates? Read HERE. Poetry about Monte Carlo and church bells for Saturday night’s mass.
And today I brought home Sailing Alone Around the Room by Billy Collins. I wasn’t even sure what to expect, partly because I requested this on a whim due to some strange search that didn’t even relate. Don’t ask me, but my library catalog does weird things. (I’ve searched for fountain pens only to get back all books on mountain men.)
So there I am tonight flipping through this thin book and suddenly I am hit by the magic of his poem Tuesday June 4, 1991.
By the time I get myself out of bed, my wife has left
the house to take her botany final and the painter
has arrived i his van and is already painting
the columns of the front porch white and the decking gray.
It is early June, a breezy and sun-riddled Tuesday
that would quickly be forgotten were it not for my
writing these few things down as I sit here empty-headed
at the typewriter with a cup of coffee, light and sweet.
I feel like the secretary to the morning whose only
responsibility is to take down its bright, airy dictation
until it’s time to go to lunch wit the other girls,
all of us ordering the cottage cheese with half a pear.
The poem goes on for another twelve stanzas and all of it is brilliant. Just brilliant. I can feel myself there and I can picture the whole setting as He continues to describe the day. It is open verse but with a definite rhythm that makes me want to read it over and over and write just like that. Or something like that. Wow.
Poetry is in my soul. I may not be a great poet, nor even mediocre, but I love reading it, writing it, and listening to it.
And I also mean listening to it through music. Music, songs; the pure perfection and poetry in songs is such a part of my life. It’s just something that has shaped my writing and passions.
I urge you to try and read Tuesday June 4, 1991. It is stunning.