Today the local monthly book club I belong to was held at my home. Only it wasn’t “Book Club” this time. It was “Poetry Club.”
I love poetry, possibly more than the general public does. The oldest book I own is a copy of Robert Louis Stevenson’s A Child’s Garden of Verses, given to me by my grandmother in 1950. I treasure it, not only for the poems but also for the inscription she wrote on the front papers. It says, “To Anne, with love from Grandma – Christmas, 1950.”
My mother loved poetry too. Her favorite was a sad piece by A. E. Housman called “When I Was One-and-Twenty.” I suspect it reflected how she felt about her failed marriage those many years ago.
My son now teaches poetry at a university and is published more than once in the genre. His hope is to be our country’s poet laureate sometime.
My hope is more modest. I want others to appreciate what poetry offers. To that end, this was the second time in a couple years I’ve pushed it onto my book club friends. Maybe they’re just humoring me, but when one of the members suggested that we bring poems to each meeting and read one or two if we feel like it, I felt validated.
So sorry I missed our book club meeting. I am looking forward to receiving my copy of the poems. Such fun!
As a book club friend, I’ve loved all your “poetry pushing”. I remember that I enjoyed poetry as a young adult and find myself getting reacquainted. The exploration today of the many poetry forms was fun; plus educational.