PoEtRy FoR dUmMiEs

I am apparently poetry illiterate! Is it a sign of moving around in my youth? The lack of arts in American public schools? Was I just not paying attention? "Roses are red, violets are blue" aside... Whatever the reason, my knowledge of poetry is sadly lacking.

Before Christmas break my roommate, who is a high school English teacher, and I were talking about an amazing lesson she'd had that day with a group of her students. They discussed the purpose of poetry, what it meant to each of them and (as a result of the popular movie) had an impromptu analysis of the poem Invictus. Poetry is such a power-punched page of adjectives, nouns and verbs. It was amazing to see how each of the students had interpreted the poem. Each applied their feelings and past experiences, or if none existed for this particular poem, they calculatingly analyzed it.

I fell in love with the fact that her kids were finding ways to apply poetry to their lives, to be inspired by its messages or find understanding it its prose. I resolved myself not only to crack that poetry book I've had for years but never read, but also to memorize at least one poem. But what is a poem worthy of memorizing? I've always liked O Captain! my Captain! by Walt Whitman since first seeing Dead Poet Society in my youth (plus I live in the nations capital, semi-appropriate, right?) But, what is one of your favorite poems or one that has inspired you? Or... are you just as poetry illiterate as I am?!

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;

The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While fellow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;

But O heart! heart! heart!

O the bleeding drops of red,

Where on the deck my Captain lies,

fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;

Rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills;

For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths--for you the shores a'crowning;

For you they call, the swaying masses, their eager faces turning;

Here Captain! dear father!

This arm beneath your head;

It is some dream that on the deck,

you've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;

The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, it's voyage closed and done;

From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;

Exult, O ships, and ring, O bells!

But I, with mournful tread,

Walk the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.