Art? I get it. (Except for modern abstract art. What the hell is that about? I too can throw pink paint on a canvas, glue a few straws to it and call it “pink lemonade in July”, but I don’t. Why? Because that would be a complete waste of time.)
Music? I totally get it. Who hasn’t turned to sad songs after a break up and wept while analyzing every single last word and thinking, “Oh my God! Yes! This is EXACTLY what is happening to me. Oh, Celine Dion, you just KNOW me.”
Poetry? Don’t get it. Yeah yeah, so music is kind of like poetry set to music, but at least it has music in it.
I never had time for poetry when I was in high school – mainly because I found it stupid and totally useless. Junior year my English teacher thought it would be awesome to spend an entire module on American poets. Gag. I wanted to spend the module gouging out my eyes so I wouldn’t have to read one more poem. Just don’t get the allure.
There are, however, one or two poems that have stuck with me over the years. Like the one in “Four Weddings and a Funeral” that’s given during the eulogy. You know the one – that one that had everyone sniffling in the movie theater.
The other one, strangely enough I found in a cookbook. Random, I know. But it’s just as good. I won’t bore you with the entire poem, just with the good part: