Poetry and Such

Erin's post on poetry brought me back to my years as an English major at Virginia Tech. I remember a few times I held my dear dormmates captive as I, dressed in black, read them poetry. I also recall the sheer pleasure of reading poetry, writing about it, writing it, discussing it, and getting credits for it. No wonder so many of my college days seemed so carefree! I played "granola" for a few years and they gave me a degree! I had e.e. cummings' words gracing my closet doors, Walt Whitman quotes on the wall, and even a postcard of William Butler Yeats on my desk. (My sister, Johanna, recalls "Sailing to Byzantium," I'm sure.)

Thank you, Erin, for reviving my roots! Somehow over the years the poetry has subsided in my life. The pen I once revered became a utilitarian tool and lost its beauty. The pages that once boldy bared my inner self have recently become rather blank. Perhaps I shall gloss the pages with ink once more. Yes, maybe I will find the poet I left behind in the stairwells of Shanks Hall.
Maybe. Perhaps.

I'll end this with a William Carlos Williams poem. Perhaps I'll get my wheelbarrow going soon...

The Red Wheelbarrow

so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.