Poetry 101...

My sister recently surrendered to me a 1957 edition of the Senior Anthology of Poetry for Schools in South East Asia. I said surrendered because she loved collecting old books. So, it was probably with some reluctance that she handed it over. She reminded me that we used to have a book of poetry with the exact same title for Literature class during our secondary school days. I had to pause for a while to recall whether there was such a book. I believe my mind must have suppressed those memories of Literature class as a sort of protective mechanism. Yes, it is all coming back to me now....

Flashback to the times when we sat in class, hunched in nervous anxiety behind our newer editions of Senior Anthology of Poetry. Our teacher, Mrs. Peters, a commando disguised in a sari and hair bun, would have been reading aloud a selected poem. Her clear voice would waft to our ears, bringing words of great (and mostly dead) poets, words hoping to get understood and appreciated....And our teenage minds would be vacuous vessels, unable to comprehend. After the reading finished, she would cast her penetrating eye around the classroom. And we would huddle in dread, trying desperately to look invisible. After zooming in on the sacrificial lamb, she would boom “You, Ah Moi, what do you think the poet is trying to convey?” (Note : in an attempt to protect the identities of the traumatised victims from Literature class, I have used anonymous identities here).

We all empathised with Ah Moi but those were the times where Darwin’s Survival of the Fittest theory kicks in strong and self preservation takes priority above friendship and loyalty (just so you know, apparently the term Survival of the Fittest was coined by another guy called Herbert Spencer, not Darwin lah!). So, we cast encouraging glances to Ah Moi, hoping she would bluster up enough sense to appease Mrs. Peters. Of course, it is also in the name of self preservation that we were putting our money on Ah Moi to save the day. Can’t have Mrs. Peters pick on Minachi next, can we? Alas, we were but vacuous minded teens and intelligent replies were few and far in between. On good days, Mrs. Peters would just raise her eyes to heaven and wonder how she ended up there. On others, we will get a verbal lashing from a very frustrated Mrs. Peters and a 100 line poem to memorise and recite at the next class. And explain what the poet was trying to convey of course. Those were the days....boy, am I glad that’s over!

Poetry took a back seat after secondary school. Reading became centered on popular novels and works of fiction. Chick-lit, fantasy, humour, crime fiction....I guess I have a tiny artsy vein in my body in that I still read some classics once in a while. But that was it. Poetry did not feature much, if at all. However on a recent day, at an MPH warehouse sale, I came across a gorgeously illustrated book of children’s poetry. It was a good bargain at the price. And in hard cover too. So, I bought it. As I flipped through the pages, I began to enjoy it. There were no heavy duty verses or complicated phrases. Just simple words constructed in a beautiful form. Hallelujah, I could actually understand it! I didn’t even have to refer to a dictionary (yet). The light dawned on me. Stupid education system! They should have stuck to children’s poetry, not the Senior Anthology of Poetry!! OK, half kidding on that one.

Poetry can be enjoyed if given a chance. No need to get into the deep stuff if they seem too complicated (especially after a hard day at the office, the brain doesn’t want to be going into overtime!). I guess the trick is to pick ones you can understand and appreciate. Poets have amazing talent and imagination to be able to put together phrases that roll off the tongue with such lyricism. There are a lot of stories to be found in poetry and poems. They can be solemn, sad, happy, nonsensical.... even nursery rhymes and limericks are a fun variation. I have a long way to go towards real poetry appreciation but hey, it’s never too late to start. It’s all about expanding your horizons. I may be sticking to children’s stuff for a while though. I thought I’d share a few with you every now and then whenever I come across any that I liked.

To start off, here are two selections... enjoy! (from “A Family of Poems” compiled by Caroline Kennedy).

Careless Willie
Willie with a thirst for gore
Nailed his sister to the door
Mother said with humor quaint
“Careful, Willie, don’t scratch the paint!
                                       Anonymous

ME
As long as I live
I shall always be
My Self – and no other,
Just me.

Like a tree.
Willow, elder,
Aspen, thorn,
Or cypress forlorn.

Like a flower,
For its hour –
Primrose, or pink,
Or a violet –
Sunned by the sun,
And with dewdrops wet.

Always just me.
                   Walter de la Mare