We thought it would be fun to wind up National Poetry Month with some of the Geek Moms’ favorite poets and poetry.
My own memories of poetry are quite early. My mother lived in Los Angeles and my father lived in the mountains over six hours away. This was back in the '70s, so long before books on tape or DVD. So what did my father do to entertain one bored tween and two rambunctious younguns?
Why, recite 19th and 20th century poetry to us, of course. (Can you tell his mother was a librarian?)
My father has this deep, rumbly voice that was just perfect for reciting The Charge of the Light Brigade, Hiawatha, The Highwayman, or If. He could also whip out a mean rendition of Custard the Cowardly Dragon, one of my personal favorites when I was young.
My taste in poetry has changed a lot over the years. I am now much taken with Mary Oliver and still have a fondness for T. S. Eliot, most especially this bit from Burnt Norton (The Four Quartets):
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
- Footfalls echo in the memory*
- Down the passage which we did not take*
- Towards the door we never opened*
- Into the rose-garden. My words echo*
- Thus, in your mind.*
- But to what purpose*
- Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves*
- I do not know.*
- Other echoes*
- Inhabit the garden. Shall we follow?*
