Cindy La Ferle’s Home Officea window on the writing life

Liberty & poetry for all

Cindy on November 19th, 2008

“Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits.” — Carl Sandburg

There’s an article on sidewalk poetry this week in the Christian Science Monitor. Permanently stamped on city sidewalks, poetry is part of a new public arts project in St. Paul, Minn. This thrills me no end, since I’ve always thought poetry should be a part of everyday life — not reserved for lofty occasions like funerals or retirement parties or 50th birthday bashes.

Poetry inspired me early on. A quirky only child, I spent a fair amount of time reading alone in my pale blue bedroom or in a wooden playhouse in my backyard. I wasn’t entirely antisocial, but found many of my best friends in a parallel universe of words occupying a small bookshelf in my closet.  And while I never considered myself a poet, I composed silly limericks while the neighborhood kids played dodge ball.

I like to encourage everyone to make a habit of reading poetry. Reading a poem a day will change the way you look at your world, and if you happen to be a writer, it will enhance your own work. Start with accessible contemporary poets like Mary Oliver, Jane Kenyon, and David Whyte. They’re easy to digest — but soulful and satisfying.

And you if like your poetry with a twist, try Billy Collins.

Collins (also an only child) served as Poet Laurete of the United States from 2001 to 2003. He just published another fabulous poetry collection, Ballistics, which will appeal to even the most incorrigible cynic who claims to dislike poetry.  Like his legions of devoted fans, I admire how Collins illuminates the truth in the smallest details of ordinary life.  And many of his poems are laugh-out-loud funny. Can you tell how much I love this guy? Here’s one of my new favorites:

Evasive Maneuvers
By Billy Collins

I grew up hiding from the other children.
I would break off from the pack on its patrol of streets every Saturday

and end up alone behind a hedge
or down a dim hallway in a strange basement.
No one ever came looking for me,
which only added to the excitement.

I used to hide from adults, too,
mostly behind my mother’s long coat
or her floral dress depending on the season.

I tried to learn how to walk
between my father’s steps while he walked
like the trick poodle I had seen on television.

And I hid behind books,
usually one of the volumes of the encyclopedia
that was kept behind the glass in a bookcase,
the letters of the alphabet in gold.

Before I knew how to read,
I sat in an armchair in the living room
and turned the pages, without a clue

about the worlds that were pressed
between D and F, M and O, W and Z.

Maybe this explains why
I looked out the bedroom window
first thing this morning
at the heavy trees, low gray clouds,

and said the word gastropod out loud,
and having no idea what it meant,
went downstairs and looked it up
then hid in the woods from my wife and our dog.

–from Ballistics, copyright 2008 by Billy Collins; Random House

Tags: American poetry, arts and letters, Ballistics, Billy Collins, Christian Science Monitor, David Whyte, Evasive Maneuvers, Jane Kenyon, liberal arts, literature, Mary Oliver, only children, poems, poetry, poetry in public places, public art, reading poetry, sidewalk poetry, St. Paul, U.S. Poet Laureates
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