August 8th, 2003
My wife and I were reading poetry to each other yesterday. WH Auden. We started off our romance like that. And though it seemed in the last two years since we got married, that we’ve been doing it less and less, yesterday showed that the magic hasn’t gone away at all.
Poetry is such a wonderful thing, when you stop to think about it. Especially when you read it out to someone, or have it read out to you. Hidden meanings, perhaps some that the poet didn’t intend, come across and you feel things that you might have forgotten, or mistaken to be a touch of heart-burn.
For those of who you haven’t really understood how poetry can do things like that, just read some of the greats. T.S Eliot, WH Auden, eecummings, Sylvia Plath, Dylan Thomas are some of my favourites. You I’m sure can find your own. Read it out aloud. Read what you feel not what you see.
Because yesterday I found words in unexpected places, with unexpected meaning. Words that I had wanted to use and hadn’t know that I had.
This is how to express yourself.
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