How do we start picking a poem? How do we go about narrowing down the many thousands of poems available to us to a single piece? I can tell you how the fast majority of us start, we start at the title. If the title sounds interesting then we look at the poem itself. By doing so we are looking at the size, layout, structure, etc. of the poem. If this too is to our liking we dig deeper. We do a quick read of the poem. Is it what I had expected? Does it rhyme? What is it about? What is the overall feel? And finally do I like it? At this point, if the answer is yes, you probably have about 10-30 poems your looking at. You take a step back and read over them again a little later. “Hmm, I can’t believe I actually liked this one,” “this one’s really confusing, I think I’ll pass,” “Wow! I like this one a lot!” Just like that you have brought 30 poems down to about 5. This is where you really analyze. You look for the deeper meaning. Is it actually about what you thought? After a bit you will decide on one poem. 1000+ is now 1.
Okay. This is what most of you probably did. I did too. However it did not help me find “my poem.“ I knew “my poem” the instant I read it, about five minutes before we turned our analysis in in class.
“Let It Be Forgotten” by Sara Teasdale.
Have you ever done, saw, had, or heard something; known someone; felt so strongly and just wished you could forget about it as easily as you forgot what you had for breakfast yesterday? I’m sure you have to a degree, I’m sure we all have. You see, I thought I could stop caring as soon as I tried, as soon as a was given a reason, but I have tried and tried and I have been given reason after reason and yet that only makes me care more. I feel some days that the memory is fading, the desire is diminishing, but then there are those days, those times, those instants that trigger something, a thought, a feeling, a memory, and it all comes back. It comes rushing back wilder and more intense than ever. I do stuff I regret, I over react, and that makes it all the worse. All the more memories to be triggered, all the more feelings to be had, all the more thoughts to be ingrained, only to fade away and then come back reenergized and stronger than before. I wish I could just “Let It Be Forgotten.”
I am walking, a flash of color catches my eye, a flower, more beautiful than anything to behold for an instant. I pick it. I put it in my hair and set it on my dresser when I get home. The next morning I wake. The once vibrant plant is limp and lifeless. It’s colors have faded to a drowned out brown. Its leaves and stem and petal release a sappy puss. As fast as it had woven into my heart it is in the trash forgotten but seconds later.
It is winter. Cold and crisp. The ground is bright at night and blinding in the day. The limbs of firs hang low, pulled down by the weight of the glistening powder upon them. I sit inside, blowing the steam away from my hot cocoa, drinking it by the spoonful to avoid burning my mouth and throat. I gaze into the fire, lost in its color trying to find the beast within. My ears are numbed by the constant rustle and crackle of the flame only to be reawakened by a loud clap or readjusting log. The sounds carry on in a chorus only to fade to a subtle ember b y the mercy of a fleeting prod. Forgotten with the rising sun.
If only it were that easy. If only I could “Let It Be Forgotten.”
A longing glance, a wishful tone, a pleading ambiance.
A hopeful fist, a vanishing wave, a settling touch.
A restful pause, a meaningful hiatus, a regretful sigh.
Fade in time
As a memory
That will be forgotten
Oh just “Let It Be Forgotten.”
No comments:
Post a Comment