Back when Fred Flintsone was a boy I had to learn poetry in school. Back then I didn’t appreciate poetry at all. Teaching poetry to a bunch of hard, canny, North of England boys must have been a frustrating task. We all thoughts that poets were effete, pretentious, and of doubtful sexuality. Most of all, we thought they were ‘southerners’.
What I didn’t realise back then is the depth of thought and feeling that a good poet puts into every single word and stanza.
Adventure, history, love, lust, myths and legends, tragedy, unrequited love, war… all of these and more are to be found in poetry. And, even a short poem evokes feelings that the longest novel cannot even begin to touch.
Today is November the 11th. In 1918, on the 11th hour, of the 11th day, of the 11th month the guns fell silent.
If I should die, think only this of me:
That there’s some corner of a foreign field
That is forever England.
The Soldier ~ Rupert Brooke
Poetry is also about love. If you want to melt the heart of a woman try poetry. If her heart is unmoved, then move on, because she just isn’t worth the effort.
‘Tis better to have loved and lost,
Than never to have loved at all.
And just to prove that a great line never dies;
Please listen responsibly.