Oh Noetry!
January 30, 2008, 9:30 am
Filed under: Books, Library | Tags: , ,

When I was a little girl, Papa! read me poetry at night instead of bedtime stories. He’s the major reader in the family: Mama! reads, but not quite to the extent that my dad does. He is the reason I have such a deep attachment to books. You know, such a deep attachment that I had to bring most of my collection to college with me, because the idea of not having them near me was too devastating. Even though my college has a massively huge library system, that probably has all of my books and then some. But no, I needed MY books with me AT ALL TIMES. This will never change. Hence, the secondary English lit major and the librarianing. Of course, when I learned to read and discovered the newspaper in the morning, he would grumble about”who thought it was a good idea to teach you to read?” when I would heist the front page before he got to it. When I got good at reading, we switched, and I would read poetry outloud to him.

Because of this, I love poetry. As much as I love novels, poetry makes me warm and fuzzy. Some of my favorites include e e cummings, W. B. Yeats, Seamus Heaney, Oscar Wilde, T. S. Eliot. I love to read them outloud to this day. I love the way the words sound together, how they feel in my mouth. I could read the same poem over and over again, and never get tired of it. I am a huge nerd. Feel free to mock me.

When working at the library, sometimes I come across books that interest me, and immediately after discharging them, I will check them out for myself. One can imagine how many books I have sitting at home now. This happened on Monday, when I saw a collection of poems that I wanted to look through.

Later that night, Bear was putting me to bed, and I offered to read some of the poems out loud to him. He likes listening to me read poetry. Or at least, he knows how much I love reading poetry aloud, and sharing poems I love with the people I love. He humors me a lot. He is a good Bear.

I read a few, some about love, some about life, some about excrement. After a handful, he said, “These are good poems! What’s the book called?”

And I swear, you can’t make this shit up, I had to answer, “‘Good Poems.'”