I have always regretted in my public school education that I did not get to experience instruction in the writing and reading of poetry. My school district had enacted a (IMO in hindsight foolish) "speed reading" curriculum for "advanced students" and the way it worked was that in my High School Sophomore English class..... the "advanced students" were pulled from one 10 week marking period (of the six) in our year-long English class to form a small cohort of six of us who would learn the "art and value" of "speed reading". This 10-Week marking period would have our English grade inputted by the "speed reading expert" teacher instead of our normal English teacher.
I loved English, and even though I was mildly curious about learning "speed reading" because it was "all the rage" for a while, I was annoyed to miss my regular English class. And, then.... to make matters worse.... the marking period where I was selected to be in that "speed reading group of 6" ended up being the marking period where my English teacher was working through poetry...... something I did not really understand, but WANTED to learn about.
There wasn't much I could do about these decisions as a 15 year old..... so that was what happened. In my "speed reading" marking period, I did learn and master the "techniques" of speed reading, and I could "speed read" at a VERY rapid rate after this instruction.
But, I actually DISLIKED speed reading as it removed nuance, and artistry from the written word in ways that I thought denigrated the BEAUTY inherent IN reading. It had me feel "mechanical" as if just a robot, and it did not feel joyful.
But, I did my work and earned my "A+" for that marking period for being a "great" speed reader...... but then proceeded to never really use "speed reading" again..... except perhaps a small handful of times where I felt under prepared for a test and pulled some last minute "cramming" by using "speed reading".
But.... the problem was that I MISSED THE WHOLE DAMN MARKING PERIOD of instruction about how to understand, interpret and write poetry. It felt like a truly BIG loss to me. Do not get me wrong..... I loved all the other marking periods of my English class in Sophomore year.... the marking period of "classic literature" the marking period of "creative writing" , the marking period of "grammar and syntax", the marking period of "modern literature" etc. But I felt cheated by not getting the poetry marking period..... and instead learning "speed reading".
So, over the intervening decades, I have occasionally taken several stabs at learning more about poetry on my own. But, it is a damn hard subject. Things I read are all over the map, and reading/writing of poetry does not have any real conventions, I find. While this may and likely is true..... and this lack of conventions is true for MOST every subject at some level..... I know (and regret I did not have) that my dear old English teacher WOULD have taught me a basic "framework" of what poetry was/is that I could have used as a foundational stepping stone to then allow me to see beyond that framework to see and UNDERSTAND how and why poetry has moved beyond that "framework" into all its permutations.
But, without that "framework" that would have been taught to me by my teacher...... I feel rather handicapped to understand, interpret, or write poetry to this very day. I see poetry..... I can read poetry.... I can even take a stab a writing poetry.... but it does not seem truly something my mind has the frame to UNDERSTAND.
Maybe it is just my mind haranguing about nothing important..... but to me, it does feel like I missed something important.
So, everyone once in a while (probably every year or two), I try to write something that seems like it might be poetry to me. I am usually "amused" at the results, but tend to think it is just silly trash. Not really poetry, but what kind-of, "sort-of" poetry. I often thought if I would have had that marking period of instruction, it would have given me the "framework" to have a knowledge I wanted..... not necessairly to become a "poet" but I also thought it would have helped me to understand.... poetry.... and also how to "understand" or "feel" the writing of lyrics of song as well. Lyrics of song are perhaps more approachable to me.... but the mechanics of trying to write lyrics also alludes me. I have "song" in my heart, but I do not really have "tools" to work with, and only can do what is at best, mimicry.
Geez, that was a long-winded, not thought-of in a long time memory for me. I apologize if it was as dull and dust, but when I do recall some things, they dredge up a lot of feelings.
So here is my "pseudo-poem" that I cobbled together of a memory of a time camping many years ago. I kind of meandered around with putting it together while I was feeling moody late last week and into the weekend, trying to get out of my "mood":
Ceci est une Pipe [with apologies to Magritte and to people who speak French]
A polished briar nests within my hand,
a sculptured curve of wood with a tarnished silver band.
I pinch the cubed leaf, so rich and brown,
and pack a bowl as the sun settles down.
A flame erupts, a light of amber and gold,
to awaken slumbering flavors, rich and bold.
A timid draw and a first sweet flavor I take,
on my tongue swirling notes of rum and spice awake.
Hints of toasted nut and vanilla blend,
much like long-ago conversations with a friend.
Velvety smoke ascends in tranquil rings,
with slow reflection it hazily brings.
Chalky smoke paints air with shapes that drift and
fade,
akin to dreams of light and shade.
Worldly worries and burdens cease,
supplanted by stillness and a settling peace.
Yet within this calm, the mind awakes,
as thoughts colesse to arise as a dawn that breaks.
Aroma supplants the evening chill,
nurturing elegant charms that hold the mind still.
My senses stir, refreshed and alive,
beneath the darkening canvas of sky.
As glowing embers fade to ash of gray,
tensions and grievances all wash away.
I find a tranquil joy in every draw,
for time stands still, and life's stresses withdraw.
PipeTobacco
