book crush thursday: Billy Collins

To be honest, I only took the Poetry Writing class because it sounded marginally better than Journalism. Poetry wasn't something I wanted to be associated with, not really. It sounded like I might need a beret to read or write it well, and to make snooty comments using my postmodern vocabulary.

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I can do a lot of things, but I'm not so great with snooty comments. And I hate postmodern vocabulary.

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But I was pleasantly surprised, and I learned that ignoring Poetry is like ignoring Fiction or Nonfiction. You can't just chuck literature like that. So I read a lot of poetry, and I wrote a bunch. I'm not a poet by any stretch, but I finished class with a huge appreciation for good poetry.

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I'm guessing that poetry is a lot like wine: you can listen to the critics tell you what to like, or you can sample and determine on your own, regardless of prices or rules. To me, good poetry sounds effortless, like the poet stumbled upon this piece, whole, and just copied it down, amazed and relieved.

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Good poetry makes me draw my breath in sharply, and then stare out the window, trying to absorb the words and the way that this little poem suddenly changed the quality of the light, the mood, the day.

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Good poems. Mmm. Nothing like 'em.

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This brings me to Billy Collins, the hero of today's book crush. Have you read much Billy Collins? I don't know what the supercool, superchic poetry crowd thinks about him, but honestly, I don't really care.

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He was the poet laureate, so I'm not alone in loving his work. And, hey, The New Yorker wrote that he makes "an apparently simple phrase into a numinous moment." I had to look numinous up in the dictionary--it means "filled with a sense of divinity" if you want to know--but I think The New Yorker has it right. That's exactly what Collins does for me.

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He describes normal life in a way that makes me live differently, makes me appreciate the small imperfect things that crisscross my days. And, amazingly, he does it in a way that doesn't sound pretentious. I feel like I can usually grasp what he means, even if it makes the top of my head lift off a bit. That, in my book, is what poetry should do.

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Collins is also my all-purpose language rescue kit. I carry one of his books when I travel: when I start itching for a gorgeous linguistic nugget, I browse his work for a while. I pick him up when I'm about to edit something, so I can tune my ear and remember all the possibilities in a phrase.

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And, perhaps most importantly, he pulls me to the surface when I'm completely dead in my work. During one devastating week, when I felt like I didn't have two words to set together, and I was pretty sure I hated all novels and mine in particular, the one prescription that worked? All Billy Collins, all the time. I binged on poetry, and when I wasn't reading, I napped. Next Monday found me at my desk again, restored.

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You see? He's magic.

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Here--are you comfortable? Read his stuff for yourself. (It's slightly tragic to read good poetry on a screen... but it's still better than no poetry at all. Find one of his books when you have a chance, but for now, dive in...) This is one of my favorites. Oh, and this is good. And this. This one takes me back to Medieval Lit class, in a good way. And this makes me laugh, I think it's gorgeous...

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(I could keep going, can you tell? But for now, I think I'll let you read in peace.)

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Recommendation: Cafe au lait and biscotti--extra dark chocolate. That'll do.