So April is almost over, which means that National Poetry
Month is also on the wane. This holiday (of sorts) is celebrated primarily with
readings and book fairs and maybe a brief appearance or two by a soft spoken poet
on PBS’ The News Hour with Jim Leher. Some poets and literati might lament the fact that the national standing of the man (or woman) of letters is not what it used to
be. Since Shakespeare, the prominence of poets in English and American pop
culture has flat-lined. There is of course the rare anomaly
here and there – a blip or two by Robert Frost in the 50’s, maybe a blip now
and again when Maya Angelou steps into the spotlight – but for the most part,
April is the only month that the general public is treated to an oh so rare dose
of poesy. And, in my opinion, it's all for the better.
There is no reason to hold the
poet up to the same personal scrutiny and ephemeral, gushing accolades as we do a rock star or politician. Most poets have become poets because they enjoy
the simple quiet of a small room. And they enjoy poetry for the strange
transformation that a few, well-chosen words can have on the very walls of said
room. Never have I heard a poet complain that they themselves are not getting
enough attention, only, some may lament, that their work has suffered that fate.
And here we can insert National Poetry Month back into the
conversation. For this month we are reminded that there are men and women
striving, in their own solitude, to warp and wrap and change our language so that
it may emerge more profound, more transcendent, more meaningful than when it
was so humbly placed into so meek and frail a form as poetry.
Joseph Brodsky
once said that “poetry is not the best words in the best order, but for
language it is the highest form of existence.” And it attains that high form,
at least in part, because of (though some would say ‘in spite of’) its frail
and meek form. Poems are small and delicate things that can be carried around
in the memory or folded up and stuck easily in the pocket.
Which brings us back around to one of the last events of
National Poetry Month: this Thursday, April 26
th is
Poetry in your Pocket Day. The idea behind this nationwide event is to
encourage people to walk around with a poem close to them, for them to read it, think about it, talk about it... let
the poem inform your day. Hearing this idea on NPR reminded me of a similar
project that the poet and essayist
Andrei Codrescu* gave to his poetry students
at Louisiana State University. He assigned each student a Ghost-Companion, who, as he explained it in his book
The Poetry Lesson, is “a poet, dead or alive .
. . whose last name begins with the same letter as yours. This is a poet that
you will study all semester, read deeply, understand well, google till you’re
satisfied, and call on when you feel some difficulty. Any difficulty. Your
Ghost-Companion will be a great and generous soul, who will come to your aid
not just for your assignments, but also in other situations that neither you
nor I can now imagine."
To ask me to pick a favorite poet out of the many I have
read over the years is an anxiety inducing experience, one similar to trying to
rationalize the difference between a small and large infinity. My mind seizes
and comes up with scarcely a sound, let alone a name. So, in order to pick a poet for
this Thursday I have elected Codrescu’s method and picked
Charles Simic as my
Pocket Poet, as we both share a last initial. Here is one of his many small gems:
Watermelons
Green Buddhas
On the fruit stand.
We eat the smile
And spit out the teeth.
Let me know about your Ghost-Companion, and post your poem for Poetry in Your Pocket Day below.
By Adam Shutz
*A poet who, by the way, got his start at Johns Hopkins and was a columnist for the Baltimore Sun as well as NPR. He has also been featured in UB's literary magazine,
Welter.
