It’s National Poetry Month, and time for me to make my annual admission that I’m not much for poetry. I usually enjoy it when I’m reading it, but that doesn’t happen too often. And some excerpts from poems have fed me well over the years. But I’ve never been inspired to make the effort I think it would take to get to a place where poetry was valuable to me.

I have to say, though, that I’m often intrigued by poets themselves, maybe even a bit more than I am by writers in general. Their views on life and creation are often skewed in ways that give me lots to think about. Here’s a good article by Roger Kimball on Rudyard Kipling, a poet whose reputation reached both the heights and the depths, sometimes simultaneously. I’ve never read Kipling, but I would probably enjoy him. One passage quoted in the article I particularly liked:

But I consort with long-haired-things,
     In velvet collar-rolls,
Who talk about the Aims of Art,
     And “theories” and “goals,”
And moo and coo with womenfolk
     About their blessed souls.


One thought on “Poet

  1. I love Kipling — especially his “Just So” stories and most especially “How the Whale Got his Throat.” It contains one of my favorite lines in all of literature, simply for the joy of saying the words:

    “But as soon as the Mariner, who was a man of infinite-resource-and-sagacity, found himself truly inside the Whale’s warm, dark, inside cupboards, he stumped and he jumped and he thumped and he bumped, and he pranced and he danced, and he banged and he clanged, and he hit and he bit, and he leaped and he creeped, and he prowled and he howled, and he hopped and he dropped, and he cried and he sighed, and he crawled and he bawled, and he stepped and he lepped, and he danced hornpipes where he shouldn’t, and the Whale felt most unhappy indeed.”

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