Poetry Month
April is poetry month.
For many of you, the word poetry has negative connotations. You may recall that teacher in high school who made you study the romantic poets, write a paper over Whitman’s Leaves of Grass, decipher Shakespeare, or write your own sonnet. Or you may have been to a poetry reading that was somewhat miserable. Or you may have read some contemporary poetry in a magazine that was difficult or, well, incomprehensible.
I feel your pain. But I also want to encourage you to give poetry another chance. For poetry, like anything worthwhile, takes practice. You don’t dive right into Shakespeare, just like you don’t dive into the deep end when learning to swim.
I started my journey with Dr. Seuss and Shel Silverstein. You couldn’t have two greater teachers. Before long, it was Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, Poe. As far as contemporary poets go, you can’t go wrong by starting off with Billy Collins or Ted Kooser. Another route is by reading poetic songwriters like Bob Dylan or Tom Waits.
Poetry readings are often hard to take, but sometimes they soar. You’ve just got to find the right one. By the same token, contemporary poetry is often deliberately difficult, but if you find a poet you love, poetry can be a tried and true friend.
I often speak about how similar poetry is to prayer, at least to me. The Psalms are ancient poem/songs that range from praise to utter despair. When you write a poem, you’re often getting down to the nitty gritty, what life’s really all about, where it hurts, how it thrills. Prayer is like that too.
But I especially love how poems can tell stories and preserve memories. In this series, I’ve often mentioned how I try to make at least one memory a day–how I feel like I’ve failed when an entire day has gone by without one memorable thing happening.
But thanks to poetry, I’ve been able to preserve some memories that I would have surely forgotten otherwise. Sometimes they’re funny, sometimes they’re sad. Sometimes they’re beautiful, sometimes they’re bad.
Whoops.
Here’s one from my first poetry book. The story behind the poem is that my poetry buddy Nathan Brown and I were heading to the Woody Guthrie Folk Festival in Okemah a couple years ago. We were taking the scenic route and had taken a wrong turn, somehow. Nathan, who was driving, turned the car around, and then we saw a hitchhiker.
Upon seeing him, I immediately called out, “I’ve got the poem!” (When two poets are together and see something odd, you’ve got to be the first one to call out and claim creative ownership.)
The result was this poem, which, in addition to preserving a funny memory, has become one of my most popular poems at readings.
Note to an Oklahoma Hitchhiker
For starters, you might
try putting on a shirt.
No sane person’s gonna let
some bare-chested, beer
bellied, man-boobed Bubba
into their brand new SUV.
Besides, bare feet are
pretty much a deal killer
when you’re out here
looking for a ride,
no questions asked.
And while we’re at it,
that gallon of milk you were
chugging out there on I-40
in the 100 degree heat
was so peculiar and troubling
that I’ve placed you
at the bottom of my list
of potential hitchhikers
I’d ever pick up if I were a
“pick up hitchhiker” kind
of guy. Water or Gatorade?
No problemo. But milk?
That’s just wrong.
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Comments
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James Kos here again. Going for my 6 month checkup next week. Cat scans blood test the whole thing. So far so good. Apparently the previous message didn’t read your blog a month or so ago. I did the same with my hair prior to chemo out of defiance and my doc said ” what did you do that for, your not going to lose your hair” damn. Colon cancer chemo doesn’t promote hair loss. Who knew. Enjoy your column. Writing this going home from the thunder game. Wish you the best. Email anytime.
James.
hi, I just started reading your blog tonight and I have to tell you being an ICU stepdown nurse I empathize a lot with my patients but reading your blogs has given me a whole new perspective on terminal illness. Thanks for the insight, wishing you all the best.