Poetry

One thread that is part of the fabric of my life has been poetry.

I think the earliest poem I remember would be either "The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere" or "The Highwayman". Probably the latter. The rhythms and drama would certainly appeal to any kid. I remember reading them (and studying the pictures) from the Childcraft series of books my mother bought (and which my dad blew up over when he saw the expense).

I remember coming back to them over and over, with a feeling of comfortable anticipation boarding and excitement.

There really was excitement in those stories and romance and the rhythm and the rhyme. Some of Edward Lear's nonsense or Lewis Carroll were mixed in there too, but they didn't grab me in quite the same way. Perhaps the humor was too sophisticated for me then (I'm not sure just how old I was, but certainly younger than 10). Even such blatent nonsense as Jabberwocky or "The Courtship of the YongyBongyBo" takes some experience with epic poems to understand their twisted natures.

In middle school, I started keeping a mommonplace book. At that time, I didn't know the term or even really the idea of a diary. And this was before the popularity of Journalling in teaching. I only really knew that some poems and aphorisms resonated so strongly with me that I wanted to keep them. Yet I wanted to keep their importance to me private. They put into words so many of my feelings and thoughts that I was afraid that I'd be literally and open book to anyone who read my notes.

I remember having lost my notebook once. I was crushed. But I think I might (at the time) have perfered that feeling to the chagrin of having one of the more popular kids ask if it was mine and hand it to me, with an odd expression on his face. At the time, I probably just snatched it, mumbled thanks and took off. But I wonder to this day what his thoughts were. Probably just thinking about lunch or his next class.