On Reading Poetry to 12 Year Olds

I majored in English for the simple reason that the only subjects in which I was interested or for which I had any aptitude were reading and writing. I had no thoughts toward the usefulness of such a degree in the workplace. I didn't assume or pretend that a B.A. in English would get me much of anything except the pleaure of doing what I loved for credit. (I was once hired for an administrative job not because of my experience but because I was literate. Bonus).

The only thorn in my rosy collegiate experience was poetry. I loved reading it but the 2 poetry classes I took were all about the objective side: scansion, feet and meter, rhyme schemes. I undertand the merits of this. One should understand measurements and temperatures before attempting to make a roux. Technical understanding is behind the preparation of a good bechemal sauce but in the end, it's all about how things taste. Same with poetry. I was into the subjective side of it, how the words made me feel, what the images did in my head, connecting poetry to experience. My poetry profs were having none of that. Because after the a-b-a-b stuff they were also fairly tyrannical about the meaning of poems. There was only ever one accepted meaning and any attempt to argue for another was pointless. This was also troubling because it was not how I was learning to study other kinds of literature. If you found a meaning in The Old Man and The Sea that was outside the accepted interpretation of the book, so long as you could back that up from the text, you were fine. You might even be brilliant.

But the interpretation of poetry was presented so strictly, so apart from any subjective influence that it damn near killed my love of it. Not unlike too much theology getting in the way of faith. Fortunately, I was able to find my way back to a love of poetry and I no longer care if I'm "getting it all wrong".

I digress. Today was Literacy Day at The Child's school so I did my bit and read poetry to her class. Choosing the selections took weeks, given the 412 billion poems out there to chose from. It was wonderful to have their attention, to hear them laugh at the amusing poems, to have them applaud The Road Not Taken. Then, because I have a mean streak, I gave them a packet of the poems and an assignment for Monday, that will count toward their writing grade. (And I'm going to grade them, heh, heh, heh). But all they have to do is pick two of the poems that they like best, identify a "golden line" (one that stands out especially to them) and write a brief paragraph explaining their choice. Mrs. S. can teach them about the structure of poetry. I want to make sure they also learn to love it for it's very own sake.

As I told the class, first thing each morning I drink a cup of coffee, say a prayer and read a poem. All three conspire to nudge me to the place of affirmation and focus required to begin the day. I can't offer you a cup of coffee at the moment and whether you pray or not is between you and Whoever. But I can give you one of my current favorite poems. I haven't counted the number of feet and I suppose it's free verse or something similar. It's for sure not a sonnet. But I know it's true:

What We Need

The Emperor,
his bullies
and henchmen
terrorize the world
every day,

which is why
every day

we need

a little poem of kindness,

a small song
of peace

a brief moment
of joy.

- David Budbill