Invitation

If you are a dreamer, come in,
If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar,
A hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer...
If you're a pretender, come site by my fire
For we have some flax-golden tales to spin.
Come in!

That is a poem by Shel Silverstein, and it was incorporated into recent event held by my group in our class: "Poetry Playtime." The following are excerpts from a paper I wrote in response to the event.

***

Poetry Playtime was born of the idea that most people fear poetry. They loathe it. The very idea of it conjures up words like, “boring,” “long,” and “confusing.” Yet for most of us, poetry was an integral part of our childhood development. From the sing-songy scheme of almost all children’s books to the primary colored pages of Dr. Seuss to the simplest of all nursery rhymes, we learned words through poetry. We learned to love reading through learning to read and recite poems. We giggled at the way the words sounded and loved the way they felt spilling from our little inexperienced mouths.

Our group – Tom, Tiffany, and I – hoped to encourage our fellow college students by remembering the days when poetry was fun, not scary. We wanted to recreate the experience of having poetry read to us, and this would come complete with childhood snacks and a “reading” circle.

Our poetry outreach project took place on Wednesday, March 3, at the 10:00 hour. We were hoping for good weather so we could sit outside, so obviously it was raining, and we were banished to Neely Dining Hall. Though we hadn’t picked up any “carpet squares” (an earlier idea that got canned), we arranged some chairs in a circle in the corner of the room. It would be nice, quiet, intimate… or, 70+ people would show up… which is what did happen. Luckily, there were more chairs available, and so the circle expanded. Eventually we used up all the chairs and so some stragglers stood. They may have come for the childlike smorgasbord we had prepared: goldfish crackers, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (no crust, cut diagonally), Fruit-Roll-Ups, and Capri Sun pouches. Regardless, they came, and that was the most important part.

Tiffany went first, reading some poems from a Shel Silverstein book. As I looked around the room, some people’s faces lit up in recognition – not everyone, but some. Whispers of, “Oh, I loved this poem!” and “I remember this one.” arose from our reading circle. Now I can’t pretend to know how other people were feeling, or what they were thinking. But I know what I was thinking. As Tiffany recited “Smart,” I remembered memorizing the poem and performing it for my 4th grade class. We all had to pick a Shel poem to memorize and recite, and I was so proud of myself. I was proud because I had memorized the poem, of course, but also proud that I knew that five pennies was less than one dollar.

Smart

My dad gave me one dollar bill
'Cause I'm his smartest son,
And I swapped it for two shiny quarters
'Cause two is more than one!

And then I took the quarters
And traded them to Lou
For three dimes -- I guess he don't know
That three is more than two!

Just then, along came old blind Bates
And just 'cause he can't see
He gave me four nickels for my three dimes,
And four is more than three!

And I took the nickels to Hiram Coombs
Down at the seed-feed store,
And the fool gave me five pennies for them,
And five is more than four!

And then I went and showed my dad,
And he got red in the cheeks
And closed his eyes and shook his head --
Too proud of me to speak!

Tiffany closed the session with an excellent rendition of Dr. Seuss’s classic, "Oh, the Places You’ll Go!" I would guesstimate that two-thirds of high school graduates either received this book as a gift, or heard some part of it recited during a graduation speech. Tiffany spoke briefly on this, and mentioned that perhaps in rereading it could be meaningful to us again and again as we encountered new phases of our lives.

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself
any direction you choose.
You're on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the one who'll decide where to go...

OH! THE PLACES YOU'LL GO!

You'll be on your way up!
You'll be seeing great sights!
You'll join the high fliers
who soar to high heights.

It’s corny, I know. Yet I feel that so often we are ushered into this “adult” world and unfortunately we leave behind the meaning we found in simplicity, exchanging it for an embittered quest into what we assume is a “more mature obscurity.” I think there is as much truth to be found in Dr. Seuss’s monosyllabic stories and Shel Silverstein’s whimsical poetry as any other poet or storyteller could wish to have. It is powerful and poignant, just in an easy-to-open wrapper.

Our poetry project touched on the very oral nature of most children’s poetry. I thought this was interesting as it coincided with our in-class discussion on spoken-word poetry. Most children’s poetry is extremely adaptable to being read out loud, and I would venture to say that most of it is better when read out loud. The act of reading to a child is incredibly powerful and purposeful. Children who are regularly read to associate reading with the comfort of having another person’s undivided attention. It also encourages them to begin to read, as they sound out the words. If you pay attention, a lot of young children first learning to read almost always read out loud to themselves. In a sense (and our program tried to capture that), we could learn a thing or two from these children. Much poetry is better understood after reading it aloud. Our poetry reading combined the remembered sense of ownership of reading aloud with the remembered sense of comfort from being read to.

I think our group addressed in our poetry outreach project the need for poetry to be accessible again. People who may have struggled with understanding or appreciating poetry for most of their “academic careers” may have walked away from Poetry Playtime with a refreshed outlook on the craft. Though perhaps they did not rush out to buy the latest Norton Anthology, maybe a few went home and dug out an old copy of Where the Sidewalk Ends. At the very least, I am certain that people came, had an encounter with real, meaningful poetry, and left feeling non-threatened, non-confused, and probably a little happier. That is good enough for me.