I have always admired people that read poetry. There’s some dark, hidden part of me that wants to wear a beret and smoke a cigarette while absorbing deep philosophical meaning from beatnik poetry. But the rest of me realizes that the last time I really “got” poetry I was reading Shel Silverstein in grade school. That may be why I decided to change my major from literature to history. I was just too intimidated by the poetry classes.
I remember being so relieved finding out a final was in the form of essay questions instead of multiple choice or fill in the blanks. Even in math, the only questions I was likely to get correct were the story problems. There was no question that reading and writing have always been my strengths.
Until someone says the word poetry.
And then I panic.
I have friends that after a few drinks say things like “for the next 10 minutes let’s only speak in haikus.” Seriously?? That’s usually my sign to find the restroom with the longest line and hide there until the “fun” is over. But while I was intimidated by those friends, I was also mesmerized. I mean, I barely understand children’s books that rhyme and these people throw out effing poetry while drinking?? Un-rehearsed?? To those of you who can do that… I think you’re total badasses. But please don’t invite me to join you.
As for other forms of poetry, I am going to give them another try. I just bought the sun and her flowers by Rupi Kaur. I honestly do not remember where I first heard about it but at some point, for some reason, I added it to my list of books to read someday. Turns out that someday is now. Review to come soon…
Learning to Aim 