Lovely Words...

I was recently discussing poetry with some friends. It was nice, because it had been some time since I had really thought much about it.

In school, I wrote a lot of poetry. I still have those journals. In a way they sometimes inspire the stories I write now. I'm just not as satisfied with the brevity of poetry any longer. Now I like longer stories that permit me to take a character somewhere.

I didn't share much of the poetry that I wrote. It was personal. Much like the majority of poetry written. There have been a few people in my life who've been permitted to glimpse my poetry. I'm certainly not the next Frost or Dickinson, but I didn't write them to be like those people. I wrote in order to purge myself of my emotions.

Anyway, while conversing recently, someone asked me who my favorite poet was and without any hesitation I stated, "Sarah Teasdale." My declaration was met with blank looks. Then I realized that although I've been a fan of Miss Teasdale since I was quite young, many people have never heard of her.

I was first exposed to Sarah Teasdale's There Will Come Soft Rains, probably her most famous work. It was used in a short story I read for literature class. A rather descriptive story set in the future in which you come to realize that something tramatic has happened. Life is going on as normal except for the fact that mankind has completely disappeared. It fit the poem and its sentiment well.

Since Sarah Teasdale died in 1933, which is more than 70 years ago, and since this poem was composed prior to 1923, it is now considered public domain. So, I am sharing There Will Come Soft Rains with you:

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pool singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white;
Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself when she woke at dawn
Would scarcely know that we were gone.

After my exposure to her in Mr. Bradbury's story, I started researching Sarah's poems. Not an easy task prior to the internet, because at the time at least, there was only one complete collection of her poems. Finding it wasn't easy. But I did.

It sits on my desk. Along with my complete Thesaurus and Dictionary. All other books are stored on my bookshelves. However, I've been known to often pick up Sarah's book while suffering from writer's block, so I keep it handy.

Since first reading There Will Come Soft Rains, I have discovered that many of her poems touch me in the same way. But I often fail to realize that not many other people have been exposed the Sarah Teasdale's work.

Despite her passing, her works are still here for everyone to read and enjoy. Here's a link to a website that has some of her poems. Sarah Teasdale Poems.

I hope that you enjoy them as much as I have.

April