The first sound that a baby hears, apart from her mom's words, is a lullaby. It soothes her when she is distressed. It calms her mind. It is the music in it that she can relate to. The words are yet to form some meaning because she doesn't understand language yet. As she grows, she begins to understand the words too and the connection with words begins. Kids at an early age develop an affinity toward poems. Poems attract them because they are lyrical and they are easy to remember. Poems tell stories and generate knowledge in an easy manner for them. Thus, early learning teachers stress on alliterative and rhyming poetry. Poetry that is repetitive, that plays on words in essentially every child's favorite. I would like to share a very fascinating poem here which I read recently. It comes from an anthology of poems (The Bill Martin Jr. Big Book of Poetry) my son's teacher had suggested for him to read. It is simple, and playful. It creates an imagery for the child's mind and by its repetitive use of words makes it a hit among them. Children relate to it on a different level too. Like, when they tasted a food for the first time and found its taste funny. They also find it hilarious because it is like a tongue twister. They say the words wrong and then they say it right and the fun continues...
Rabbit by Ann Hobermann
A rabbit
Bit
A little bit
An itty-bitty
Little bit of beet
Then bit
By bit
He bit
Because he liked the taste of it
But when he bit
a wee bit more
It was more bitter than before
"This beet is bitter",
Rabbit cried
"I feel a bit unwell inside!"
But when he bit
another bite, that bit of beet
Seemed quite all right.
Besides
When all is said and done
Better bitter beet
Than none.
As we grow up, poetry speaks to us in more soulful ways. It reflects our deep thoughts and touches an inner chord of heightened sensitivity. It speaks in a way that feels blissful. It questions our fallacies by the honesty with which it creates meaning. Good poetry is like good music. It makes us cry, it melts our biases, it cleanses us of our deceptions, it purges us of our pain. It delves way deeper than any other medium and because of its unique style, interrogates in a way nothing else can.
Poetry has various forms too. It can be lyrical, like the songs or lullabies we hear. It can be an epic narrative, like Homers' Illiad and Odyssey. It can be a short poem like a haiku or tanka. It can be a fourteen line sonnet. It can be an ode, a ballad or a free verse. There are umpteen number of ways a poem is written. A good poem, irrespective of its length, moves its readers. See for example, this short piece by Ryokan, a poet from ancient Japan:
The thief failed to take it -
The moon shining
At the window.
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| Image Source here |
Inspirational poems are like lighthouses that help us see when everything else has become murky and miserable. Most of us are familiar with Harivansh Rai Bachchan's है अँधेरी रात पर दीवा जलाना कब मना है . I will quote a few lines from that poem here
क्या हवाएँ थीं कि उजड़ा प्यार का वह आशियाना
कुछ न आया काम तेरा शोर करना, गुल मचाना
नाश की उन शक्तियों के साथ चलता ज़ोर किसका
किंतु ऐ निर्माण के प्रतिनिधि, तुझे होगा बताना
जो बसे हैं वे उजड़ते हैं प्रकृति के जड़ नियम से
पर किसी उजड़े हुए को फिर बसाना कब मना है
है अँधेरी रात पर दीवा जलाना कब मना है
(Source here)
The sordid human condition that prevails in a decadent, spiritually lost world, is well depicted by one of my favorite poets T. S. Eliot. The Hollow Men is a strong, sharp commentary on the utter desolation of humanity. The hollow men are barren of emotions, they are devoid of the very essence of humanity.
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;......
or the lines
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
(Source here)
In contrast to this is a very sweet poem written by W. B. Yeats. It speaks beautifully of love. The lines are so simple, the feelings coming straight from the heart, they make each and every word of the poem sublime. Read the poem to see if you can feel what I felt after reading it.
The Cloths of Heaven
Had I the heaven's embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light;
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
(Source here)
The great thing about poetry is precisely this - it touches on a myriad of subjects with equal efficiency. Each theme that a poet picks becomes intensely probing. Poems shake away our deafness, our blindness, our indifference. They are weapons of change, they are balms of calmness, they appease, they unsettle. They are poems.
Written for Indiblogger IndiSpire #91
