In Honor of National Poetry Month

I have a confession to make.  I really don't like to read poetry all that much.  I think its because I never had a really good poetry teacher.  Until recently.  My book group is blessed with several retired teachers, two of them high school English teachers.  Every April, our group reads a poet in honor of National Poetry Month.  Mary Lou, our poetry officianado, dutifully makes up packets of poems for us to read and delivers them to our houses because she knows that's the only way some of us will read them.  She prepares and leads a discussion that always catches me off guard.  I am always surprised at how much I end up liking the poems. And I always go home in awe that poetry and poets still have a place in today's fast paced world.  They do.  

This year we did a collection of nature poems - a subject I could surely relate to.  Mary Lou discussed the musical quality of the verse and poetry's place in oral history, making me realize how important this ancient art form is to our human experience and our ability to slow down and connect with our fellow man (and woman).  It was a gift.  As a result, I vow not to skim quite so quickly over the poetry section of the book store, or bury underneath my bedside stack, the book of poems I got from a friend for Christmas.  Mary Lou and my other teacher friends have helped me remember that poetry is to be read aloud many times, even sung, in order to be heard over the dense words of fiction and commentary. 

Here are two selections from our Nature Collection this month.  Sing them, read them aloud, appreciate poetry for its beauty and simplicity.  Then pass it on to someone else.

Some poets to check out...

Seamus Heaney        Billy Collins

Mary Oliver              Nikki Giovanni

Stanley Kunitz

Winter Promises

Marge Piercy (1936 - )

Tomatoes rosy as perfect baby's buttocks,

eggplants glossy as waxed fenders,

purple neon flawless glistening

peppers, pole beans fecund and fast

growing as Jack's Viagra-sped stalk,

big as truck tire zinnias that mildew

will never wilt, roses weighing down

a bush never touched by black spot,

brave little fruit trees shouldering up

their spottless ornaments of glass fruit:

I lie on the couch under a blanket

of seed catalogs ordering far

too much.  Sleet slides down

the windows, a wind edged

with ice knifes through ever crack.

Lie to me, sweet garden-mongers:

I want to believe every promise,

to trust in five pound tomatoes

and dahlias brighter than the sun

that was eaten by frost last week.

The Bat

Theodore Roethke (1908-1963)

By day the bat is cousin to the mouse.

He likes the attic of an aging house.

His fingers make a hat about his head.

His pulse beat is so slow we think him dead.

He loops in crazy figures half the night.

Among the trees that face the corner light.

But when he brushes up against a screen,

We are afraid of what our eyes have seen:

For something is amiss or out of place

When mice with wings can wear a human face.

Nightwoods by Charles Frazier

Charles Frazier of  Cold Mountain fame, has yet again created a captivating story around the backwoods world of the Appalachian Mountains of western North Carolina.  Unlike his other books set in the 1800’s, this one takes us into the mid 20^th century (1960) where life is still quiet and simple, but is on the cusp of discovery by the retirees and vacationers who have more recently populated the area. 

Luce, a single woman living alone in an old resort lodge at the foot of a mountain spends her time hiking, gardening, reading and licking the wounds of an old psychological injury that leaves her unable to find happiness among the rest of society.  Her world is turned around when social services arrives at her door with her sister’s 5 year old twins for her to raise.  Their mother (her sister) was murdered by their stepfather while the children watched, which has rendered them antisocial with tendencies toward pyromania.  Its Luce’s job to help them recover and become able to interact with others while she keeps them safe from their stepfather, Bud.  Bud, newly back in town, stalks them because he thinks that they know more than they do about some money he thinks is his.

Luce is an interesting character with her own cross to bear.  Having no intention of ever having kids or raising someone else’s, her parenting learning curve is short but thoughtful, as we believe that maybe she understands what the twins need to help them heal.  The others in the book provide a colorful backdrop to the drama that is played out between Bud and Luce. 

What I love about Charles Frazier’s books is his sense of place.  When you read them, you know exactly where the action is taking place.  His descriptive voice allows you to visualize it in your mind.  Because he has spent his life in the North Carolina Mountains, he just gets it right.  Some of you might know that I am of the mind that the area around Asheville and Brevard NC is God’s country, a beautiful place that, throughout history has been isolated enough to be largely unaware of the rest of the world.  When I read this book, I could see the characters and hear them speak in the backwoods setting he has created.  There, the rules of society don’t always apply and people act out of the rich culture and traditions of a segment of society that, before mass media, internet and cell phones, has spent hundreds of years insulated from the pressing issues of the time. 

Some critics thought otherwise.  They found fault in his “elegantly archaic-sounding, rough-cut and contrived” prose.  I don’t agree.  To me, his writing is poetic and magical.  I think Mr. Frazier draws some inspiration from a 19^th century style of writing, a time period that he has written about in two previous novels; one that lends reality and atmosphere to his other books.  I think it works here too.  It’s this more flowery style that gives Nightwoods a timeless quality and helps us visualize the landscape and his eccentric characters better. 

Do yourself a favor.  This summer, when you need a trip back to a slower time where people live simply and out of the spotlight, pick up Nightwoods and see if you agree with me.  I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. 

The Cat's Table by Michael Ondaatje

Michael Ondaatje, who brought us the much acclaimed The English Patient and Anil’s Ghost, has written a wonderful account of a time when ocean travel was still a favored form of transportation.  Seen through a young boy’s eyes, the story captures the magic and wonder found in out of the way places deep in the hold of the ship and the freedom for kids to embark on a grand adventure away from the eyes of their parents. 

The year is 1954 and eleven year old Michael is boarding an ocean liner traveling alone for a three week voyage from Ceylon to England.  On the ship, he meets two other young boys and is assigned to the “cat’s table”, the exact opposite of the prestigious “captain’s table”.  It’s where the staff members and shady characters eat their meals.  It is this assortment of people who Michael spends his voyage with and who mold his future forever.  The trip is spent scouring the nooks and crannies of the ocean liner and observing fellow travelers, including a shackled prisoner as he is walks the decks in chains in the middle of the night. 

The Cat’s Table is a lovely book, beautifully yet simply written, that transports us to the innocence of childhood.  It doesn’t take much to wonder if the story is based on Ondaatje’s own experiences, but an author’s note in the back says no.  I am glad that through a series of flash forward sequences we find out what happened to the colorful characters and the kids who accompany Michael – I think it would have been easy to stop with the ship’s docking and leave the reader hanging.  For these kids, the voyage is the first time that they spend so much time in such close proximity to adults and can observe them at close range. These observations are their own informal education into the world away from school and family and they are changed for the experience.

Today the thought of putting an 11 year old on a ship to travel for three weeks unattended is out of the question.  It plainly wouldn’t happen.  In fact, chances are the parents would be arrested for such an act.  Years ago, this was not looked upon as dangerous but as a necessary way to travel, especially for continental families who were separated by oceans from their boarding school or from relatives who were doing business or visiting far away from their kids.  While I’m not sure I’d put my 11 year old on a ship for three weeks, I grieve for that magical time when a group of kids together have the opportunity to explore and play, problem solve and observe without the intervention of adults.  Yes they got into some bad situations, but they figured out how to get out of them too.  Life lessons that I’m not sure are taught well today.  This important part of becoming an adult is something I have become nostaglic for. 

Ondaatje is a master storyteller who knows all the tricks and I’m happy that this novel has a different feel than his others.  He transports us into the kids’ world aboard the ship and we travel along with them at sea and through the Suez Canal (a particularly beautifully rendered part of the book) and across the Mediterranean to England.  And for the gray days of March, a great voyage indeed.  I hope you’ll take the trip with him too.