Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Hey! It's National Poetry Month! And guess what? I love poetry.
Of course you wouldn't guess this based on the poems from my 7th grade poetry folder which I occasionally share (like this little gem). And if I were to share the dreadful poems I currently write, you DEFINITELY would not guess that I love poetry. I butcher the art form in embarrassing ways.
My mom read Romantic and Victorian poetry aloud to me when I was young, and for a long time in middle school, I read poetry more than anything - especially heartbreaking love poems and In Memoriams. Sadness and suffering appealed to me very, very much when I was an angsty thirteen-year-old with horrendous hair and no fashion sense to speak of. Now that I'm a mom, I make sure to read tons of poetry to my girls, and wouldn't you know it, Gracie's favorites are the ones that have twisted and sad endings. Like mama, like daughter.
My favorite poem, if you haven't figured it out yet, is The Lady of Shalott by Tennyson. It's too long for me to post here, so I'll just go ahead and leave you with this:
At the age of seven, I was pretty darned positive that Gilbert Blythe was going to one day rescue me from drowning in a super romantic way. Admit it, folks - you had the very same dream.
I like my artwork as I like my poetry - filled with romance, sadness or suffering (bonus when it's all three!) - so it's probably no surprise that my favorite painting is The Lady of Shalott by Waterhouse.
When Will and I had been dating for about a month, he said, "I have a surprise for you," and proceeded to drag me around London (yes, really drag. I was wearing super cute boots that day, but they KILLED my feet). When we reached the Tate Britain, I thought, "Art gallery? I have a date at an ART GALLERY?"
But it gets better. You see, I had told Will at one point in the four weeks we'd been dating that The Lady of Shalott was my favorite painting. Will knew it was in London. I did not. When he pulled me in front of the ginormous painting I think I stared at it for close to a hundred years. In case you don't know this, The Lady of Shalott is even more incredible in person. I probably cried. And if I cried, Will laughed, because he thinks my cry is the funniest thing he's ever seen. (It's too dramatic to even look real, he says)
The way to this girl's heart is depressing artwork and poetry, that's for sure. And Will won my heart yet again when he called a cab for the trip home from the Tate (seriously, those boots were killer).
Happy National Poetry Month, folks!
And now a question for you - What's your favorite poem?