In his collection of poems, New Addresses: Poems, Kenneth Koch has written poems in praise of everything from mundane objects to profound states of being: To Life, To Some Buckets, To Old Age.
The reason I don't read more poetry is that I worry about copying voice or content from others. When I let go of that fear a little and I read some poetry, I realize other people's work can be pretty inspiring and I don't feel nearly as concerned about inadvertent theft.
It just occurs to me that these poems are odes (which I keep trying to spell "oads"...because rhymes with toads) which is kind of nice, odes are kind of nice. Since it's a pretty common sort of poem, I thought maybe I'd write some odes myself. I won't steal from good old Kenneth but I will gladly help myself to the ode, because the world is full of things to praise.
Poetry isn't for everybody, I get that, I mean, I actually don't get that. But I hear it and I try to accept it.
When I think about the world through the lens of poetry, everything becomes worthy of notice, everything, every tiny thing becomes exquisitely worthy.
And a random thought:
We become annoyed when other people repeat themselves,
but will listen enraptured to the birds singing the same song repeatedly
I wonder if the birds tire of one another
"A cat! A cat! A cat!"
"Come and mate! Come and mate! Come and mate!"
Is it just so much chatter to the birds?
"There he goes again.
Again with the cat and the mating!"
But for the not knowing
we are willing to call it song
The reason I don't read more poetry is that I worry about copying voice or content from others. When I let go of that fear a little and I read some poetry, I realize other people's work can be pretty inspiring and I don't feel nearly as concerned about inadvertent theft.
It just occurs to me that these poems are odes (which I keep trying to spell "oads"...because rhymes with toads) which is kind of nice, odes are kind of nice. Since it's a pretty common sort of poem, I thought maybe I'd write some odes myself. I won't steal from good old Kenneth but I will gladly help myself to the ode, because the world is full of things to praise.
Poetry isn't for everybody, I get that, I mean, I actually don't get that. But I hear it and I try to accept it.
When I think about the world through the lens of poetry, everything becomes worthy of notice, everything, every tiny thing becomes exquisitely worthy.
And a random thought:
We become annoyed when other people repeat themselves,
but will listen enraptured to the birds singing the same song repeatedly
I wonder if the birds tire of one another
"A cat! A cat! A cat!"
"Come and mate! Come and mate! Come and mate!"
Is it just so much chatter to the birds?
"There he goes again.
Again with the cat and the mating!"
But for the not knowing
we are willing to call it song
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