I happened to come across this piece while browsing Substack with my morning coffee. It was recommended by a publication I follow on the platform. What a beautifully written tribute to the importance of poetry and its legacy. I had to fight back a few joyful tears while reading. What a gift this was, getting to read this article. Thank you <3
Thank you so much for reading my post. There was so much I wanted to say about memory and why we should exercise it like a muscle. Memory is like our arm muscles. We use it to carry around so much. The stronger we keep our ability to remember the better able we are to care for the ones we love. And the ones who come after us. Our collective memory as a culture can transform the world--if only we recognized its ability to do so!
Beautifully stated! I have read studies that suggest people who are suffering from memory recall issues for various reasons should sharpen their mental skills by learning a new language or musical instrument. Your piece gives such eloquent artistic gravity to that scientific discovery.
Memorizing Emily Dickinson becomes easier when you realize how much her meter is indebted to that of church hymns. Her word choice is delightfully idiosyncratic and let's not even comment on punctuation, but the regular rhythmic pattern of traditional hymns surfaces again and again.
Love that dialogue with your daughter. I used to reserve the last day of the American literature survey for a memorization contest. There were prizes for longest poem and best delivery (by class vote). Many Dickinson poems were recited, but every now and then someone would venture out and learn a portion of Song of Myself, or one of Whitman's shorter poems. A popular one was "When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer"
When I heard the learn’d astronomer,
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,
When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,
Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Oh, that Whitman one is a good poem for college students so used to lectures. That contest is a great idea, and it can be great fun with a bit of creativity. Man, I would have gone all out and dressed as Edgar Allan Poe with a stuffed raven on my shoulder and done things to great dramatic effect. (I was obviously very odd--and always in danger of boredom.)
I kept throwing poetry at my daughter with little success until I tried Mary Oliver and it was game changing. We also like Ada Límon’s Instructions for not Giving Up.
Beautiful article, and you reminded me of a family tradition that I have until now never been able to share: an adapted prayer to St Antoine De Padoue, requesting he relinquished what did not belong to him (in French it rhymes), mostly used to help us find a parking space!
Oh wow! Well, we used to say: "St Antoine de Padoue, petit filou, rendez ce qui n'est pas a vous!" Which always amused me because of the oddity of using the polite plural whilst calling him a little minx, and then the assumption that that very parking space we needed was ours all along! We inherited this prayer/saying from the most amazing Benedictine nun who was Egyptian and very instrumental in my childhood, and to find a link here through you is quite unexpected and lovely.
What a lovely practice with your daughter! Yes to everything about this post!
Beautiful!
I happened to come across this piece while browsing Substack with my morning coffee. It was recommended by a publication I follow on the platform. What a beautifully written tribute to the importance of poetry and its legacy. I had to fight back a few joyful tears while reading. What a gift this was, getting to read this article. Thank you <3
Thank you so much for reading my post. There was so much I wanted to say about memory and why we should exercise it like a muscle. Memory is like our arm muscles. We use it to carry around so much. The stronger we keep our ability to remember the better able we are to care for the ones we love. And the ones who come after us. Our collective memory as a culture can transform the world--if only we recognized its ability to do so!
Beautifully stated! I have read studies that suggest people who are suffering from memory recall issues for various reasons should sharpen their mental skills by learning a new language or musical instrument. Your piece gives such eloquent artistic gravity to that scientific discovery.
Point taken, agreed with, and beautifully given. I thank you.
And thank you for reading. I am glad it resonated with you.
Memorizing Emily Dickinson becomes easier when you realize how much her meter is indebted to that of church hymns. Her word choice is delightfully idiosyncratic and let's not even comment on punctuation, but the regular rhythmic pattern of traditional hymns surfaces again and again.
All true! And I *know* I use so many emdashes because of her influence on me. 😂
Love that dialogue with your daughter. I used to reserve the last day of the American literature survey for a memorization contest. There were prizes for longest poem and best delivery (by class vote). Many Dickinson poems were recited, but every now and then someone would venture out and learn a portion of Song of Myself, or one of Whitman's shorter poems. A popular one was "When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer"
When I heard the learn’d astronomer,
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,
When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,
Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.
Oh, that Whitman one is a good poem for college students so used to lectures. That contest is a great idea, and it can be great fun with a bit of creativity. Man, I would have gone all out and dressed as Edgar Allan Poe with a stuffed raven on my shoulder and done things to great dramatic effect. (I was obviously very odd--and always in danger of boredom.)
I kept throwing poetry at my daughter with little success until I tried Mary Oliver and it was game changing. We also like Ada Límon’s Instructions for not Giving Up.
Beautiful article, and you reminded me of a family tradition that I have until now never been able to share: an adapted prayer to St Antoine De Padoue, requesting he relinquished what did not belong to him (in French it rhymes), mostly used to help us find a parking space!
Oh how funny! I studied French a long time ago. How does it go?
Oh wow! Well, we used to say: "St Antoine de Padoue, petit filou, rendez ce qui n'est pas a vous!" Which always amused me because of the oddity of using the polite plural whilst calling him a little minx, and then the assumption that that very parking space we needed was ours all along! We inherited this prayer/saying from the most amazing Benedictine nun who was Egyptian and very instrumental in my childhood, and to find a link here through you is quite unexpected and lovely.
Oh, that’s wonderful! I am going to memorize it myself!
So beautifully put! Especially the ending...
Thank you so much! And thanks for writing about Sappho! 😉