How I Feel about Poetry

In sixth grade was the last time I have done a big poetry unit in class. We had to memorize a poem of choice and explain why we chose it. This, I knew was going to be easy. I'm pretty good about memorization, and I'm not too shy about reciting or getting up in front of the class. I know everyone else is just as nervous and probably more than I, so why sweat it? If I mess up, big deal, I know it happens. My teacher knows I work hard, so it wouldn't be like I didn't try. I just didn't think much of peotry back then. It was just kind of a nice break from regular reading. Little short rhymes to think about and analyze, not like the lengthy novel we had just finished. I thought differently after I picked the poem I was to recite.

I chose the poem "Mushrooms" by Sylvia Plath. Now, previously, I said I was good at memorizing. This I meant only to the extent that a few weeks after the recital or a test, my mind goes blank. And just like that, the information is gone. I'm like a machine, programed to wipe its memory after a set amount of time. But with this peom, it was different. Three years later, and I can still recall some lines. I'm just amazed I remember the title, let alone the author and some lines. I don't know what it was about this poem that made me start to legitamately love poetry. Once I really understood the deeper meaning behind the lines, I could fully appreciate the resason peotry exists. To give messages about life in a way that is beautiful and not time-consuming. This is what I think of when I hear poetry, and I always think back to that first time when I recited that quaint little poem about fungi.

Alena