I realize that I am getting off topic on my own blog, but I cannot help myself. (I have heard enough clients say that over the years. I thought I would give it a shot.)
Billy Collins is one of my favorite poets. Sitting here, looking out the window behind my screen, my eye wanders from the serifless world of computers. The raindrops on the glass. The ivy on the garage. The dying Spruce branch swaying in the breeze like Black Jack Ketchum. Each reminding me of a Billy Collins poem. But which? I cannot remember, and look through thin tomes (can a tome be thin?) to no avail. Until my eyes fall on an even more appropriate goose to bag.
The first stanza of "Forgetfulness:"
Billy Collins is one of my favorite poets. Sitting here, looking out the window behind my screen, my eye wanders from the serifless world of computers. The raindrops on the glass. The ivy on the garage. The dying Spruce branch swaying in the breeze like Black Jack Ketchum. Each reminding me of a Billy Collins poem. But which? I cannot remember, and look through thin tomes (can a tome be thin?) to no avail. Until my eyes fall on an even more appropriate goose to bag.
The first stanza of "Forgetfulness:"
The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
never even heard of,
as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.
That is why I like Billy Collins. His is the essence of poetry. Few words. Universal truths.
An incredibly clever video of the same poem with Billy Collins reading.
Enjoy.
