Mortaine’s Blog

I’m a lil ol’ pile of tin
Nobody knows what shape I’m in.
Got four wheels and a running board
It’s a four-door, it’s a Ford.

Honk-honk rattle-rattle
Crash! Beep-beep.
Honk-honk rattle-rattle
Crash! Beep-beep.

I am finally (!) listening to my holiday present from Johnnyb– 100 years of recorded poetry. Starting with Walt Whitman, ending with Li-Young Lee and Rita Dove, poets reading their poetry for recording. It’s pretty wild, especially when you realize that Walt Whitman is generally considered one of the first real modern American poets.

So I am revelling guilty in total poetry decadence. And really, I’m just letting the poetry go over me, just catching the cadences first. Because really, it’s completely unreasonable for me to expect to actually “hear” this. I don’t hear the lyrics in songs the first time around– I certainly can’t hear the words to recorded poetry the first time round, either.

Oooh, but what shivers!