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I
Hate Poetry
by
Charles Ghigna
"I hate poetry."
I've heard that a million times. I used to say it myself.
As a teenager,
I thought poetry was for sissies and grandmothers. I didn't want any part of
it. I was only interested in cars, sports, and girls -- not necessarily in that
order. I thought poetry was something I had to agonizingly memorize and embarrassingly
recite in front of the class. Something we had to study, analyze, and write
essays about. Something we had to take tests on. Something whose meanings only
teachers and poets understood. I thought poetry had no place in my life. I was
wrong.
"Show, don't tell."
I learned that from a teacher. "A poem should not mean, but be." I learned that
from Archibald McLeish. I learned that just like a good poem, the meaning cannot
be told, it must be shown.
I
was in high school when a teacher finally showed me the truth about poetry.
He invited us to write poems from the inside out. When we read poems from our
textbooks, he did not tell us the meaning, he invited us to tell him what the
poem meant to us. Poems are like that. They invite us in, show us around, hope
we enjoyed the visit.
We always left
his class with that joy, with a new sense of discovery, of seeing the world
and ourselves from new points of view, of wanting to express ourselves freely
on paper in new ways.
I always try to
remember that feeling whenever I write my poems and whenever I talk about poetry
with young people and teachers.
Teachers often
ask, "How do you get 'em hooked on poetry when they say they 'hate it?'" I had
that same question in mind when I was a teacher. I always wished I had a book
of poems that I could whip out and hand to my students who avoided poetry like
the plague.
If we writers,
educators, and parents cannot interest our children in the reading and writing
of poetry during their teen years, we have probably lost them to the joy and
wonder of poetry for the rest of their lives.
Poet
John Ciardi once said that he wished he had written a book of poems for boys
who hate poetry. My poet-friend X. J. Kennedy reminded me of Ciardi's wish.
My 14-year-old son, Chip, reminded me of it as well. I knew I had to face that
challenge, that reward. I knew I had to write that book for the boy I once was,
for the son I now have, for the kids who still say, "I hate poetry."
Visit
the Father Goose website!
Sneak
preview: Read selections
from A Fury of Motion: Poems for Boys by Charles Ghigna (due out Fall
2003)!
Photo
courtesy of the author.
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