For The Love Of Poetry: An Embarrassing Journey
I had no interest in poetry growing up; I don’t believe I so much as looked at a single poem until I had children (maybe for the SAT?). The study of verse felt abstract and unenjoyable. Why trudge my way through a dense metaphor about a tiger (sorry William Blake) when I could just as easily read a riveting story about Mowgli or a succinct piece of nonfiction — a tiger is a predator commonly found in the arid jungles of Asia and is easily identified by its vibrant orange and black stripes — to sate my curiosity? When I became a mother, I daydreamed of all the ways I would help my children to love books. Early on, I decided that I needed to prioritize poetry memorization. I don’t know why. It just felt necessary. It also didn’t occur to me that this might be a difficult effort to spearhead since I still felt the same disinterest towards the subject as I felt in high school. I decided that my kids would love it for me, once they learned how. Then I would be swept up in their creative momentum.
I decided to introduce our new subject by pulling a poem from the only poet I had any familiarity with: Robert Frost. I clearly remember introducing my then three-year-old daughter Emmaline to “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.” The scene was right. We were snuggled up at the table with a snack and a drink, something to make that first impression feel homey. I even purchased a beautifully illustrated copy to aid her in visualizing those silent hills and majestic, snow-capped trees. I could see the future clearly— a future where I could trace my daughter’s passion for verse to this moment. I began reading with careful intonation and dramatic pause. I closed the book carefully. Then I scrutinized her ever-expressive face for evidence of inspiration. And . . . there was none. Not a trace. I don’t remember what she said in that moment, but I do remember that she immediately bounced to the next activity without another thought of snowy woods. She never mentioned that poem again.
Ah, how the best-laid plans of mice and men and parents with agendas oft go awry. I was perplexed and, absurdly, crushed by the experiment. If the right environment and a poet with high standing in history couldn’t kindle a newfound passion in her toddler heart, then what could? Perhaps cruel fate had determined that she would grow into an adult without poetic inclinations. Perhaps she was already incapable of difficult and imaginative thought and would never achieve her soul’s full potential (yes, I am prone to be dramatic in moments of failure).
In the following couple of years, I made repeated, half-hearted attempts to introduce poetry to our household. I researched and purchased anthologies of poems that were recommended by those who knew about such things and introduced new poems with gusto. At the breakfast table with the toddler screaming. Over tea time in the afternoon. I even considered welcoming my children in the morning with a poem after reading of an author whose parents had woken him every morning with poetry. Basically, I really wanted my kids to catch the bug. But nothing worked. They didn’t resist or complain, but they simply didn’t care. I finally threw in the towel and gave up proselytizing for poetry. And when I finally gave up, something unexpected happened. We began to develop a genuine interest in poetry organically.
That three-year-old girl is now three years older, and while we are not a household of poets, I will say that our family’s relationship with poetry is no longer in the realm of frantic daydreaming, but finally a solid (and less obsessive) reality. What made the difference? A few things.
- Catch the vision. I finally got what all the fuss is about when I read this article. Why is poetry important? Or books? Or art? Or music? Because they are all tools of human expression, channels to connect with each other and the world above and around us. The inimitable Susan Wise Bauer states in the article:
… you can’t express your ineffable yearnings for a world that is not quite what you thought it was going to be until you’ve memorized three or four poems that give you the words to begin.
- Stop matchmaking. One morning, my son Ryan, now four, picked up a book that had sat in our collection for a long while: Poems to Read to the Very Young. He asked me to read it to him. I did. Then he asked me to read it again. And again. And again. He was mesmerized by the charming illustrations and, heavenly surprise, by the poems themselves. After a month of intense interest on his part, he had memorized over 15 poems. I was stunned. There was no agenda. I no longer played the role of anxious mother eager to find my children a soulmate before the time for love passed them by. Ryan had found a love for poetry on his own terms.
- Cast a wide net, then wait for the catch. I began reading poetry to Emmaline and Ryan again, but with different expectations. I set us up with an afternoon tea time (setting the right environment can never hurt) and I pull out an anthology of poetry. Then I read. I read until I see their interest piqued. Then we settle there. And we learn that poem, the one that they love, by heart.
- Memorize by osmosis. I will tackle why I prefer not to memorize literature by drill in another post, but for now, suffice it to say that I have never required my children to memorize poetry. And yet, they have several stored in their minds. How? Each day, I read the particular poem they currently love. Once, twice, maybe three times. Then I give them the opportunity to recite. Never required. (However, I can’t recall a time when they have turned me down.) On the first day, they can recall the first stanza. The second day, two more stanzas. By the end of ten days, they have it down by heart.
- Revisit old favorites for retention. I care that my children maintain their repertoire of favorite poems for years to come, so I reread old favorites at the table. I’ll pull out the older material, like that beloved board book that first set our real poetry journey in motion, and read through them again. The kids can choose to recite, but the simple act of revisiting the old poems again will further reinforce the words in their long-term memory.
- Do life with poetry. Beauty and the Beast is one of my favorite fairy tales. As a child, I loved Belle (probably because she adored books and didn’t need boys, both of which resonated with me in my bookish and unpopular elementary school existence). In the 2017 live-action film, Beast is awakening to beauty for the first time on a footbridge outside the castle. As Belle reads “A Crystal Forest,” the Beast “sees” the poem for the first time, for truly
Each branch, each twig, each blade of grass,
Seems clad miraculously with glass . . .
In the same way, the poems in our hearts are breathed to life when we experience them in the context the poet envisioned. When I push Emmaline or Ryan, or even our littlest, Isla, on the swing at the park, I am in the habit of singing, “The Swing” by Robert Louis Stevenson as they joyously lean into the next rush of upward motion:
How do you like to go up in a swing,
Up in the air so blue?
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever a child can do!
Up in the air and over the wall,
Till I can see so wide,
Rivers and trees and cattle and all
Over the countryside —
Till I look down on the garden green,
Down on the roof so brown —
Up in the air I go flying again,
Up in the air and down!
Poetry is now a genuine pleasure to me and to my children. Life continues to teach me that enjoyment and learning, much like love, cannot be mandated or spawned into creation from the right set of circumstances. It’s more like a garden: the right circumstances are necessary (of course you’re not going to love any subject if you’re not introduced and encouraged), but the seed can only be planted. The rest is all about waiting for the right time for those conditions to produce growth. My new favorite learning mantra? “Wait with anticipation, not expectation.”
Here are a few of my favorite collections of children’s poems*, but these are my favorites. Explore a wide variety of genres (maybe you resonate with simplicity and minimalism, where Bashō will shine, or perhaps you love a little mystery and suspense, in which case you should explore some Poe). The joy is in the finding.
