Why poetry?

Poetry (I'm learning now I've graduated) isn't something you run across often outside of the classroom. But poetry is meant for more than just Monday, Wednesday, Friday from 3:00-4:00 so here is a place to always find poems and suggestions of more places to seek them out. You can agree or disagree with my choices, but my hope is that you'll be inspired to let poetry (the poems I find or ones you find on your own) be a part of your every day.

Friday, February 4, 2011

"I'm a Fool to Love You" by Cornelius Eady

I'm in love with this poem (sound and rhythm here are worth noting), but I won't distract you with my commentary. I'll just remind you we're looking at non-traditional love poems (good love, broken love, and otherwise) and beg you to please read this poem out loud. It's meant to be read/ heard/ experienced (hence it being found at http://www.poetryoutloud.org/). Enjoy!

I'm a Fool to Love You
by Cornelius Eady

Some folks will tell you the blues is a woman,
Some type of supernatural creature.
My mother would tell you, if she could,
About her life with my father,
A strange and sometimes cruel gentleman.
She would tell you about the choices
A young black woman faces.
Is falling in love with some man
A deal with the devil
In blue terms, the tongue we use
When we don't want nuance
To get in the way,
When we need to talk straight.
My mother chooses my father
After choosing a man
Who was, as we sing it,
Of no account.
This man made my father look good,
That's how bad it was.
He made my father seem like an island
In the middle of a stormy sea,
He made my father look like a rock.
And is the blues the moment you realize
You exist in a stacked deck,
You look in a mirror at your young face,
The face my sister carries,
And you know it's the only leverage
You've got.
Does this create a hurt that whispers
How you going to do?
Is the blues the moment
You shrug your shoulders
And agree, a girl without money
Is nothing, dust
To be pushed around by any old breeze.
Compared to this,
My father seems, briefly,
To be a fire escape.
This is the way the blues works
Its sorry wonders,
Makes trouble look like
A feather bed,
Makes the wrong man's kisses
A healing.

Found at: http://www.poetryoutloud.org/poems/poem.html?id=179454

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