Arts & Entertainment
Cromaine District Library Share Pondering Poetry In February
Ah, February. The time for the most love-struck content that the world has to offer.
February 17, 2021

Ah, February. The time for the most love-struck content that the world has to offer. You may be watching a romantic comedy, or reading a romantic novel, or even listening to Frank Sinatra croon softly in the background while you’re cooking a romantic dinner for two.
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However, if you’re anything like me, that’s not your style. My heart is more likely to swoon over spending time with a loved one over a couple of beers, a plate of takeout sushi or greasy pizza, and an awful zombie movie. Double-swoon-points for paper plates so no one has to do dishes!
I think that’s the primary reason that I avoided poetry for so long. The poems that I had been introduced to in my younger years were either sickeningly sweet (I’m looking at you, Mr. Shakespeare) or devastatingly sad (Sylvia Plath’s “The Mirror” still breaks my heart). There were rare exceptions, of course--“The Raven” by Edgar Allen Poe being the most hauntingly notable. All in all, though, poetry wasn’t a medium of expression that I sought out.
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That quickly changed when I first discovered Billy Collins. His writing is equal parts whimsical, thoughtful, and calming. His poem “Questions About Angels” was my first exposure to his work -- and a wonderful one at that. I quickly found that the beauty of his poetry is the multitude of ways that it can be interpreted. Each poem had a depth to it that you could sit and ponder at length, or at the surface level, you could enjoy his quiet musings at a kitchen table or an upstairs window. I read book after book and enjoyed them all, particularly Sailing Alone Around The Room. From there, poetry became one of my go-to genres. I’d find myself getting lost in the section at Barnes and Noble, reading Rupi Kaur’s books from cover to cover, or exploring the classics of T.S. Eliot. Well, except for his Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats. That’s a level of poetic strangeness that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get behind...
Did you find yourself hanging on to every word of Amanda Gorman’s poem during the inauguration? Send yourself through the video archives of Button Poetry on Facebook. That was my next installment of poetic obsession. Be warned, though: The content isn’t always safe for kids, and some may even contain triggering topics. That being said, they’re all inexplicably beautiful. The spoken word transforms poems into a completely different art form that makes poetry so much more accessible to new audiences. Trust me, you’ll be hooked! (Here, I’ll even give you two of my favorites: Phil Kaye’s “Repetition” and Neil Hilborn’s “OCD”.)
So, here’s your invitation! Don’t let the mushy-gushy reputation of poetry dissuade you. There’s a poem out there for every heart and mind. You don’t have to jump right into Walt Whitman--although, let’s face it, I’ll always recommend Whitman! Try something light-hearted and fun, like Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Gmorning, Gnight! Little Pep Talks For Me & You and spread your wings from there.
In conclusion, in the spirit of the Season of Love, I’ll leave you with a romantic-in-nature poem from a poet who has made social media his written medium of choice, Atticus:
That was her gift,
she caught your imagination,
the girl who talked in sing.
And that’s where I found her,
running in the desert,
footprints scorching in the sand,
magic swirling in our minds.
It was youth that burned inside her,
that much I knew,
and she shone then
to steal your heart.
Every move was wind across my face,
and her smile echoed in my eyes,
breaking them into a thousand pieces.
And upon the glass we danced on,
brave tin soldiers
marching in the desert dust.
There she took my hand,
and her fire was mine,
this pure white light,
scorching my soul
in the cold desert circus.
And on the sing poured from her,
embering the world around us.
But as the suns rose,
my heart gave ways
to fading laughter,
for in this moment,
I knew,
a setting sun,
a truth too pure to live forever,
and still,
here she was perfect,
a shooting star,
and me, young Icarus,
with a bold heart
and melting wings,
let her turn me to ash.
This press release was produced by the Cromaine District Library. The views expressed are the author's own.