National Poetry what? You heard right! The month of April has been dedicated to celebrating the art of poetry. An art form that has been around since before human beings put pen to paper.
We all know that poetry exists. We’ve all heard a verse or two in our lifetimes, so why do we need a full month dedicated to this particular art?
Well maybe because in this day and age, when schools and institutions often emphasize logical essays over creative expression it can be easy to think of poetry as an afterthought. A device of long dead and dusty lyricists seeking to woo new lovers or protest old institutions. Some have even declared that poetry is dead or at least dying. There are too many poets and just not enough readers.
But poetry can’t ever really die. For anyone who loves language, it’s all around us and inside of us. Whispering words into our ears that try to explain and capture all of the inexplicable thoughts and feelings that come from simply being alive.
So give voice to those words! Celebrate the art of poetry by writing a poem or by reading one! Need ideas? Visit poets.org. They have a list of 30 ways to celebrate National Poetry Month. You can sign up to receive a Poem-a-Day in your email or attend a poetry reading. Maybe even send some love to local poets in your area by checking out their works. We’ll even get you started with this classic poem by William Wordsworth. Happy reading everyone!
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed–and gazed–but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.