To Poetry

We lost, but have moved on

My most recent experience with poetry is the one that I have been having over the past week or so. In this class as well as another, poetry has been a main focus of this first week or so. During that time I have been reading and digesting a lot of poems. Of those, one in particular stood out to me. It is titled "To Piano Lessons" and is written by Kenneth Koch.

The poem spoke to me in a way that few poems manage to do. In “To Piano Lessons,” I hear the tones of regret. That familiar and perhaps most painful of emotions, when one sees their own potential while seeing where they ended up. My father once told me that he believed that the burning of Hell or Outer Darkness or whatever torture one would face for wickedness was simply regret, because nothing so scorches a soul like regret. It is written like a love letter to a love never taken. The poem is beautiful and sad, like all good things that we allow to slip past us.

Poetry usually has a hard time getting through to me, likely since I would not describe myself as particularly in touch with my emotions. I instead find myself reading them only when academic needs force me to. 

Something tells me that this won't change about me, and I am at peace with this idea. I think that it isn't necessary to force myself to enjoy a kind of media that I don't normally enjoy, and yet at the same time I can't help but wonder if my brief and often striking affairs with poetry may some day come back to haunt me in the same way that the Piano Lessons spoken of by Koch.

For all these reasons and more, I will be memorizing "To Piano Lessons" itself, since it is my favorite poem in a long time.

Poetry is for Me Too!

At Maria Carrillo High, the third quarter of every senior english class, be it AP, Academic, or ESL, is dedicated to a combined poetry unit. There are evening and lunchtime poetry slams, poetry reading competitions, tons of analyzations, a plethora of projects and an entire website dedicated to the posting of our own personal poems called 39poems.com (check out the class of 2014's poems by clicking on the link). This was my first experience with an online class forum, and it provided the most wonderful opportunity for students to share their frustrations and feelings on everything from being dumped to winning the big game to how stupid the poetry unit was... online in the form of poetry! 

At first I wasn't enthused about the idea. I was starting to appreciate other people's poetry but felt zero inclination to write any poetry of my own. We were required to write in a poetry journal everyday and with time and a lot of coaxing from my AP Lit teacher, I started to recognize my own style. In that unit, we learned about the boundaries and parameters of different styles and taught ourselves how to express our innermost or outermost thoughts in the form of something we could share. Every senior had to participate for credit, but it didn't feel forced. As a group of about 300 students, we grew so much closer because of the vulnerability and openness that came with sharing our poetry and encouraging one another through comments! I saw many shy students perform exquisite personal poems in poetry slams that brought me to tears and read many hilarious and witty poems by athletes who's ability to write in iambic pentameter would have been questionable to me beforehand. 

Seniors started using poetry for everything. We were passing notes during class in haiku form, people were making t-shirts with their favorite lines of poetry puff painted on the front, even my best friend asked me to prom over the 39poems.com website! To each of us, even those with no natural ability or inclination to write (ME!!!) poetry became a safe and celebrated outlet. When the unit was over, we were each better for our simple understanding of who we each were. 

So one more hilarious element of this poetry unit is that I ended up winning (I know, we were all shocked) the Poetry Foundation recitation competition with A Fixed Idea by Amy Lowell and Rudyard Kipling's If, my deceased grandfather's favorite poem. I found that I actually can connect on a deep level with people who experienced things I haven't when reciting their poetry. I also felt a bond with my grandfather while memorizing If because I knew it meant so much to him. I've decided to memorize John Donne's sonnet from Dr. Burton's list because I think a memorized poem is like a memorized scripture you can refer back to for a long time after you've memorized it. I plan to share the recited poem with my roommates! 

Divine

Attention all you English Majors. I have a confession to make. 

I am an outsider. I don't belong here. I'm a Social Sciences Education major! 
(Dun. Dun. Dun)

Yes, my friends, it's true. I feel a little bit like a different breed around this class/blog. While I love literature dearly, I definitely have reservations regarding my capability to intelligently analyze it. And we are starting our analyzing quest with poetry! The most intimidating one, in my (and my mom's. I just talked to her about this post) opinion. But, I am going to move ahead with all the confidence that I can muster. 

Oh and by the way, I plan on memorizing one of the poems from the list that Dr. Burton gave us. I'm going to share it with my stellar Journalism major roomate, Camilla. She'll appreciate it and won't openly mock me if I massacre it. 

So a poem that has had significance to me personally? After racking my brain all day for one, I had a stroke of inspiration.

 A hymn! I bet there is a hymn out there that had it's roots in a poem that means something to me. I knew what hymn I hoped started as a poem and one lucky Google search later yielded this:

"the Pillar of Cloud" by John Henry Newman 1833

Lead, Kindly Light, amidst th'encircling gloom,

Lead Thou me on!

The night is dark, and I am far from home,

Lead Thou me on!

Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see

The distant scene; one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou

Shouldst lead me on;

I loved to choose and see my path; but now

Lead Thou me on!

I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,

Pride ruled my will. Remember not past years!

So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still

Will lead me on.

O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till

The night is gone,

And with the morn those angel faces smile,

Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile!

When I began my time as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, I felt completely overwhelmed by the enormity of the task I had ahead of me. I was trying to process a whole year and a half away from my friends and family all at once. I felt like my relationships were never going to be the same. Along with that I felt totally inadequate in my capacity to teach anyone anything about the Gospel of Jesus Christ. That first night in Ohio I sat on my bed, stared at my hands for a good long time, and asked myself "what in the world have I gotten myself into?"

The next morning was my first day at the Kirtland Visitor Center (a visitor center for a historical site that has significance to members of my church). A group of us missionaries all gathered togher in the morning to start the day off with a hymn and a prayer. The hymn 
selected was called "Lead Kindly Light," and is the hymn that was originally the poem 
above. I consider this moment, sitting on the floor of a visitor center with six strangers singing this hymn, a turning moment in my life. The words of this hymn sank deep into me and I felt, for the first time, that I was going to be able to do it. I made a concious decision that day to turn my anxieties, doubts and relationships over to the Lord. I decided to hand over my mission, with divine assurance that He would figuratively take me by the hand and lead me on. 

My Inheritance

Some people have really good genes.  They are lucky enough to be super good at soccer or playing the flute or throwing shot put or climbing ropes.  I don’t have any of those genes.  Some people also have really good jeans.   They have the jeans that are just the right shade of blue and the perfect cut and make your legs look really good.  I don’t have those jeans either.  But the genes that I do have are specifically tailored to making clever rhymes and limericks.  See, I have poetry in my genes.

You can trace it.  As Mormons are a record-keeping people, I’ve discovered poems written by my great-grandparents, ancient aunts, and creative cousins.  I grew up listening to old Cousin Rolf reciting his cowboy poetry every year at the family reunions.  I admired the way he could talk for an hour and never run out of rhyming words.  Uncle Doug also had the gift—he is something of a family historian with his poetry.  He weaves the stories of his childhood, the lives of his parents, and his most precious memories into verse in a way that engages the imagination better than a your average narrative.   With these poetry gods in the family, I should be a natural, right?

{Cousin Rolf the Poetry Master}

Actually, it’s true.  I am pretty good.  Like, when I was in the second grade, I won the school poetry contest…and there was just no stopping me after that snippet of glory.  I became a connoisseur of all things word play, specializing in puns and silly rhymes.  My best friend and I passed notes to each other between classes, always trying to one-up each other and see who could create the best witty verses.  Really, some of my greatest triumphs have come from a perfectly placed quip.  It’s great.

{Can a friendship based on puns endure?  Yes it can!}

However, poetry deeply touches me spiritually as well.  There have been times when I’ve received answers to prayers through stanzas and strophes in words that were placed in my mind by a Divine Hand.  Even though poems are just words organized in a different fashion, they speak to me more clearly through emotions when my logic seems to be at a loss.  I love the deceiving transparency that they possess; somehow they manage to hide their true meaning from those who give only a superficial read-through. 

I’ve chosen to memorize a poem by my uncle, Doug Flake, called Answering the Call.  It means a lot to me because he wrote it about my grandfather, and, let’s be honest; it is pretty darn cool to have family this talented.  Poetry is something that keeps my memories and my family alive to me.  It is an outlet for my emotions and creativity.  Maybe I didn’t get the baking genes or the Guitar Hero genes, but I can write a darn good poem!  And this is a legacy that I carry with pride.   

Breaking The StereoType

Poetry has always seemed to have a natural pull on my heart since childhood.

I remember my mom reading me anonymous poetry my dad had written while they had dated. I was simply amazed to find him to be the author of the poems as I grew older. I had heard them and adored them since a young age, and ever since then I have always been eager to develop the talent to write poetry as my father does. I still have yet to endeavor on that pursuit, but I was so excited to see our course syllabus and see the first topic we would be studying would be poetry.

Poetry encompasses us each day!  It is blasting through speakers in our music, it is present in the scriptures, and it could even be included in a text message. In fact, I am sure that I have bored some of my friends with countless text messages filled of quotes and poems that come from my poetry obsession. I personally love those cliché sappy love poems. I can’t get enough of them.

Poetry is so unique, diverse, and can become exactly what the author is feeling. Poetry is the feelings that the author has been dying to portray and poetry appears to be the only way to convey those feelings almost completely.

I love that poetry and other sorts of literature have become so social and accessible. One of my favorite ways to discover poetry is through Tumblr. I have had a Tumblr since high school, and I often find myself connecting with strangers through different sorts of visual poetry. It has become so universal, relatable, and draws us all together.

Its our way of expressing to one another know that we truly know how one another feel.

I believe that poetry helps us all to find the beauty in the simplest of things, or maybe the faults, the sorrow, and joy in any situation. That is why I chose to memorize Shakespeare’s Sonnet 130. 

Shakespeare is a legacy, and I have adored his writings since reading his plays and sonnets in high school. I hope that all readers can find the joy I have found through his somewhat smug humor that is found in this sonnet. He portrays his lover not as the “hottest girl”, but actually quite the opposite. It breaks the cliché of most of the lovey dovey sonnets.

I hope that all readers can find their own personal link and love of poetry that has beheld my life.

Transitions.

When I think poetry, there's just one thing that comes to my mind: 

Shel Silverstein.

In fourth grade I started to get super into poetry, that was my Shel Silverstein phase. I started writing a lot of my own poetry modeled after his. His poetry brought new life to my own writing, and shaped the way I started looking at poetry. And into my life as well! Such as his poem "Little Abigail and the  Beautiful Pony." This poem specifically stood out to me, and I would use it whenever I desperately wanted something and would tell my parents I would just die if I didn't get it. In the end, Little Abigail died when she didn't get her pony. So I definitely thought it was pretty relevant to my life.

When I hit seventh grade, I created a whole poem book. Stock full of all types of poems, mostly written about frogs.. I also actually wrote a sonnet all about a flip flop that I lost, I think it was actually rather beautiful! 

From then on, I suppose my tastes have sort of matured you could say. While I still love me some Silverstein, my tastes have moved onto the likes of Wordsworth and Gray and Milton. My study abroad in London last year was pretty much a literary heaven to me, being able to attend so many of the beautiful places where these authors originated or where the poems where based on.

For these reasons, I have chosen to memorize the sonnet penned by William Wordsworth titled "Scorn Not the Sonnet." For me, this poem embodies so much love for poetry and for so many of the authors and places that I've so come to adore. The title sort of sums it up, talking about other authors who are held in such high regard, and that we shouldn't scorn those works.

It's important to remember the greats of the past, as the greats of the future are trying to make their way. Sometimes it's easy to push aside the importance and feelings of poetry. Poetry bridges the gab between literature, and nature, and feelings, and so many things in life that just have trouble coming together.

To love poetry is to feel life.

Ode to an English Teacher

Honestly, it was really difficult for me to find the value of poetry for a long time.  Through most of high school, it was difficult for me to read poetry because I thought it was just a bunch of fluff, and poetry analysis kind of gave me nightmares.  I didn't find the actual interpretation difficult, I just couldn't quite grasp at the substance.  I enjoyed reading novels about a billion, gazillion, times more.

My senior year of high school, my attitude completely changed because of my wonderful AP Lit teacher, Ms. Sylvia.  Ms. Sylvia is a literary aficionado.  She had taught english classes in college for most of her career, and she came out of retirement to teach at my little high school.  Ms. Sylvia knows literally everything about literature.  I am not even kidding.  Ask her any question about Shakespeare, or Dante, or Walt Whitman, or whatever and she has an answer for you.  Her breadth of knowledge never ceased to amaze me in our classes.

I can't say that I came away from that AP lit class with a favorite poem.  I can't even say that I particularly remember anything that we read in that class.  My attitude about poetry didn't change because of any personal, fantastical poetical revelations.  My attitude about poetry changed because of Ms. Sylvia's utter adoration of the poem Dover Beach, written by Matthew Arnold.

I don't think we went a week in that class without talking about Dover Beach in some fashion.  Every time we did discuss it, there was this sparkly twinkle in her eye that told me Ms. Sylvia found more personal meaning in the poem than she was letting on.

I guess one could say that we analyzed that poem to death.  And like I said before, I don't particularly remember what was said in that class, but without fail, when she said, "Now, let's talk about Dover Beach," there was a distinct hint in the change of her countenance that showed her adoration of the poem. 

I found that I enjoyed seeing people connect to poetry.  That experience, in turn, helped me to start turning to poetry as well to feel some different kind of connection to the unique literary form.  At this point, I can't say that I read poetry on a regular basis.  I do, however, relish the words I read on the page when I do.

If it weren't for Ms. Sylvia, I don't think my attitude toward poetry would have ever changed.      

Poetry = Too Much Emotion

No chickens allowed in the Poet's Club.

I always seem to associate poetry with people that have too much emotion. For example, I have a friend that went on a blind date with a guy and after this one date, he wrote her a poem. Below is an excerpt:

Is she too calm for me?
Am I too much for her?
For how long can this interest last?

I’ve always wanted to be around a girl
Like her. So sweet and faithful.
Soft around the edges. Direct in mind.
So beautiful, so beautiful, benevolently kind.

For I am constantly pulled at by girls with a sense of adventure, constantly entertained
But drawn to one that is drawn to peace and feeling.
How much she has taught me.

I fear I will lose her, so I silently push her away.
To avoid the pain.
Because she’s not the one I would typically be with;
She feels the same.

What can I do for her happiness and joy?
Whatever she wants from me. Take it.

Is she too calm for me? Am I too much for her?
Or do we balance each other out?

Why do I care? Does she?

It doesn’t matter. I enjoyed my time while it lasted
With the girl, perhaps too good for me.

When I first read this, I immediately thought, RUN.