HERE COMES POETRY DAY - and a Poem from Penny Dolan

At the start of September, on social media, teachers started asking about poetry books and anthologies Then came art work inspired by poems and requests for poems on curricular themes. Some asked for poets who were ‘good at school visits’, some lamented the costs, while others posted links to free poetry videos. 

Why the rush? Then something clicked. Of course! The reason for the buzz! This week there’s a big celebration:

THURSDAY 3RD OCTOBER

is

NATIONAL POETRY DAY.

And there’s plenty of information about it on the Poetry Day website. 

                                     

However, what caught my interest was the theme chosen for this 30th Birthday Party:

‘COUNTING’

Counting? Not a fan of maths, I shook my head. What did counting make me think about, other than abacus and number work in long-ago reception classrooms? 

But after I let the word sit in my mind for a while, I decided that 'counting' didn’t seem such an odd choice after all.

After all, poetry works through a subtle counting of the patterns and rhythms within the piece. Consciously or unconsciously, readers or listeners become aware of the pulse, hear the beat within the poet’s words.

There’s a whole poetic vocabulary dedicated to this quiet counting, full of terms like metre, iambic pentameter, trochees, stanzas and so on. But what I’m thinking about is the deep rhythmic play within poems, that pattern that creates an almost-physical response, adds a sense of movement and anticipation and the satisfaction as the pattern reaches its end.

Poetry can be about the idea of the voice counting, being of merit, having words that need to be heard. This could be one single voice, offering unique thoughts or a whole range of voices that, now, need to be expressed and heard.

Poetry is also a form of accounting: poetry notices. It bears witness to people and places and times; it marks celebrations and changes; it says that this or that happened and it mattered to one person and maybe to many.

Poetry counts, too, as part of our personal lives: many people read and rely on certain poems and poets. People often carry their own inner anthology of poems in their head, even as a mix of half-remembered lines and verses. Poetry sits there in the the memory, ready to be savoured, a kind of comfort during the dark moments, as words for the happier times and as evidence of life between. Yes, Poetry counts. I’ll go with that. Wonder what the Society actually say on their website? 

Meanwhile, in another mode and mood entirely, and for anyone still in search of that ideal, elusive Visiting Poet, here’s my own, slightly-sideways tongue-in- cheek version. As they say 'Enjoy’ - and have a good Poetry Day too!

        THE POET THAT KNOWS IT

        I am a Visiting Poet

        I am tall and fit and lean

        I can jump about for hours

        And I bring a sound machine.

        I wear eccentric clothing

        Because Poets often do,

        And in my school performances

        Will often mention poo.

        I am beardy and I’m hairy

        (As schools prefer A Man)

        Add wacky words and laughter

        And all the jokes I can.

        I can tick the box for empathy

        With well-timed sighs or tear:

        (Poetic Finances are tight

        I’ll need more work next year.)

        I do pets, cakes, friends and bullies,

        Weather, sport and football teams

        And if I do the ‘Key Stage Two’,

        Have verse to make them scream.

        I set the children buzzing,

       Using similes galore

       They chant and stamp out rhythms

       Till there’s puddles on the floor.

        I perform five sessions daily,

        Full of Poet Energy

        So the teachers can feel certain

        That they’ve had their worth of me.

        I cram the kids with poems,

        With fun and joy and cheer,

        ‘Cos when Poetry Day is over,

        They’ll have none until next year.

        But sat at home, I’m quiet,

        I dream and think and muse.

        Or go out poetry walking

        In ordinary person shoes.

        I see my friends and neighbours

        And stare up at the sky,

        And no-one knows this silent soul’s

        That ‘Visiting Poet’ guy.

        By Penny Dolan (copyright)