I am no poet and many attempts I have made often lacked the impact required of good peotry. My primary school days remind me of Nathianile Hawthorne and a book we had had to buy 'An Anthology of Poems'. If I did not get anything from the subject at least I learnt about the word ' anthology'.
My school teacher had all the characteristics of a dramatist as he lived the words of each poem we read. Some were related to those maimed at First World War, others were philosophical and yet some were just comedy. We did not read about great poets of the day but Hiawatha is vivid in my mind, it was about the a Red Indian in the USA, if I remember right!
It dorned on me then that I should put some words together and see if I can re-live the days when I was not yet nine, being read poems in school. The note below potrays a Poetry Reader and his young audience.
The Poetry Reader
Children have come from far and near,
With enthusiasm, curiosity and plain fanfare,
They come in droves with parents and carers,
As they hear that the poetry reader is here.
Assembled in planned rows, they sit on the floor,
In the huge hall, that could accommodate more
Prim and proper they look, the clothes they adorn,
T-shirts, pants, sports shoes and all.
They await the man they have heard about,
Impatient they get, the curtain is not raised.
An announcement comes, what they had longed for,
‘The poetry reader is ready, to read to you more.’
A stocky man he was, not to be raved over,
Kind he looked, balding head, nothing to cover.
He wore a long robe over his attire,
Gave the impression that the colours were on fire.
‘Come forward my children, come hither’,
His voice was soft but became firm and louder.
Moved forward they did as ordered,
Like the waves of the sea, before they retired!
‘I am the poetry reader, you all gather,
But I am more a story teller.
I read poems, prose and all you desire,
So children, be silent lest my voice, you don’t hear’.
‘Silence must prevail if you want to listen,
To the messages I send through bards and tales.
Many are the values I want to share,
Gather the meaning; you must lead life with care’.
‘Poems have changed so very much,
As experimentation with writings became a norm.
Differing ideas impact the mind,
More freedom to express, imagination of any kind’.
‘Herbert expressed ‘Easter Wings’ in the shape of a wing,
Poems took shape in the form of star, wheel and string.
Baffled will you be if you thought of poems in patterns,
As writers became bolder, penning their thoughts to denote contents’.
‘There is a message in all one writes,
The way it’s expressed, meaning is concealed ,
Read on and on, till you come to the end,
Clearly you may see what the writer has penned’.
‘Words are joyously said, intertwined with earth, soil and till,
Keep close to the style, and decipher what is said,
Look hard at the plight of the writer as he expresses,
Is he sharing a deep thought, idiom or life’s messes?’
‘Listen to a poem, Finnegan’s Wake from Joyce,
Written so long ago, but still gives voice,
The line is long, but intonations I include,
Pause I shall, at every full stop and comma’.
‘His consciousness, he expresses and puns, uses
The English is old, but meaning so rich,
Joyce is good at his choice of words,
But I won’t read his passage lest you insist’.
‘Poems are to be read for joy, they portray,
Love and feelings, misery and tales.
Rhythm and rhyme, vocabulary and words,
Are poems written in unorthodox ways?’
‘Does it matter the way they are said?
The poem and prose is read as it is made.
I read with respect for those who wrote,
I share the meanings, poems or prose!”
“Watch I shall, at your faces for grimaces,
Pausing at commas, scanning eager faces,
At full stops I shall longer, wait,
Looking at you, ensuring you are in the correct state’.
‘Ask me a question, my children and friends,
But not before I have stopped to pause,
Then I would know you want me more,
Remain I shall, a poetry reader.’
Sivalingam Nalliah
12th Aug 2011
