Poetry is best read while climbing stairs.
I work on the ninth floor of a fifteen-floor building. On the days that I arrive a few minutes early, I take the stairs. I start on the first floor, walking through the elevator lobby and turning right at the security desk. I open the door next to the letter drop, step inside the stairwell, adjust my lunch bag and Nalgene in my left hand, and dig out my poetry book with my right. I read two or three poems as I climb up to the twelfth floor, cross the elevator lobby, and walk back down to the ninth floor, where I emerge right next to our office door.
Currently I am reading Aimless Love: New and Selected Poetry by Billy Collins.
Why am I reading this particular collection? Well, a few months ago I visited a nearby library (versus the library right across the street :D ), and I saw this book of poetry sitting on a shelf. I remembered something our Sunday School leader and church elder, Brian, had said a few months before, something about Billy Collins being his favorite poet. I opened the book at random and read the poem "Hangover," which is hilarious. I promptly added Aimless Love to my stack. I read many of the poems at home, one right after another, but I was pretty sure that poetry is better spread out over time. I took the book to work and tried it out as my stair-climbing read.
Fast forward a few months, and I was once again taking the stairs to my office, reading the poem "Quandary."
Quandary
I was a little disappointed
in the apple I lifted from a bowl of fruit
and bit into on the way out the door,
fuzzy on the inside and lacking the snap of the ripe.
Yesterday it was probably perfect,
I figured, as I held it out before me,
soft red apple bearing my tooth marks,
as if I were contemplating the bust of Aristotle.
I considered all the people
who would be grateful to have this apple,
and others who might find it in their hearts
to kill me before slipping it into a pocket.
And I considered another slice
of the world's population, too,
those who are shielded from anything
as offensive as a slightly imperfect apple.
Then I took a second bite, a big one,
and pitched what was left
over the tall hedges hoping to hit on the head
a murderer or one of the filthy rich out for a stroll.
-Billy Collins
Later that day, I ate a fuzzy apple. Haha! When Amos got home, I read him "Quandary." (He had eaten the other half of the fuzzy apple at lunchtime.)
Why do I read poetry while walking up stairs? For one, it helps me to keep going. Climbing twelve floors is not easy, and sometimes I want to give up. The poems keep me focused on the word pictures he is painting, rather than on my legs that want to ditch the stairs and take the elevator at the sixth floor ("Come on, some exercise is better than none! Maybe the elevator would be good today..."). For another, I am easily distracted these days (stupid social media). Billy Collins' poems are all short stories, usually with a surprise or a twist in the last few lines; I can easily visualize the short scenes of his poems. Also, I just love words.
In discovering this combination of poetry, limited time, and stairs, I feel like I have discovered a secret. I am almost done with Aimless Love, and I wonder what poetry I will find next...
I work on the ninth floor of a fifteen-floor building. On the days that I arrive a few minutes early, I take the stairs. I start on the first floor, walking through the elevator lobby and turning right at the security desk. I open the door next to the letter drop, step inside the stairwell, adjust my lunch bag and Nalgene in my left hand, and dig out my poetry book with my right. I read two or three poems as I climb up to the twelfth floor, cross the elevator lobby, and walk back down to the ninth floor, where I emerge right next to our office door.
Currently I am reading Aimless Love: New and Selected Poetry by Billy Collins.
Why am I reading this particular collection? Well, a few months ago I visited a nearby library (versus the library right across the street :D ), and I saw this book of poetry sitting on a shelf. I remembered something our Sunday School leader and church elder, Brian, had said a few months before, something about Billy Collins being his favorite poet. I opened the book at random and read the poem "Hangover," which is hilarious. I promptly added Aimless Love to my stack. I read many of the poems at home, one right after another, but I was pretty sure that poetry is better spread out over time. I took the book to work and tried it out as my stair-climbing read.
Fast forward a few months, and I was once again taking the stairs to my office, reading the poem "Quandary."
Quandary
I was a little disappointed
in the apple I lifted from a bowl of fruit
and bit into on the way out the door,
fuzzy on the inside and lacking the snap of the ripe.
Yesterday it was probably perfect,
I figured, as I held it out before me,
soft red apple bearing my tooth marks,
as if I were contemplating the bust of Aristotle.
I considered all the people
who would be grateful to have this apple,
and others who might find it in their hearts
to kill me before slipping it into a pocket.
And I considered another slice
of the world's population, too,
those who are shielded from anything
as offensive as a slightly imperfect apple.
Then I took a second bite, a big one,
and pitched what was left
over the tall hedges hoping to hit on the head
a murderer or one of the filthy rich out for a stroll.
-Billy Collins
Later that day, I ate a fuzzy apple. Haha! When Amos got home, I read him "Quandary." (He had eaten the other half of the fuzzy apple at lunchtime.)
Why do I read poetry while walking up stairs? For one, it helps me to keep going. Climbing twelve floors is not easy, and sometimes I want to give up. The poems keep me focused on the word pictures he is painting, rather than on my legs that want to ditch the stairs and take the elevator at the sixth floor ("Come on, some exercise is better than none! Maybe the elevator would be good today..."). For another, I am easily distracted these days (stupid social media). Billy Collins' poems are all short stories, usually with a surprise or a twist in the last few lines; I can easily visualize the short scenes of his poems. Also, I just love words.
In discovering this combination of poetry, limited time, and stairs, I feel like I have discovered a secret. I am almost done with Aimless Love, and I wonder what poetry I will find next...
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