Wednesday, July 17, 2013
In 7th grade, Mrs.
Douglas decided that we would individually memorize and recite 36 lines of a
poem of our choosing. Mrs. Douglas was a
pretty woman, probably in her late 30’s.
She drove a sporty white car and gave me a ride home once. It was the first time I had ever ridden in a
car that you almost sat on the floor with your feet straight out in front of
you. The plan was that we would memorize
12 lines and say them in front of the class.
2 weeks later we would recite 24 lines, and 2 weeks later we would deliver
all 36 lines. The choice of the poem was
ours. I am pretty literal when it comes
to poetry. Reading all the hidden
meanings that the poet obviously had when he wrote the poem is often beyond me.
It is sometimes beyond the poet, I suspect, but never beyond the Literature
teacher presenting it. I chose a poem
that told a macabre story: The Raven
by Edgar Allen Poe. Memorizing the poem
was only the first obstacle that I had to conquer. I had a deathly fear of speaking before the
class and I knew that I would be a spectacle, but I crammed in the lines of the
poem and gave them in front of the class, and no one laughed which gave me
great relief. Two weeks later I related
24 lines for my peers and finally, at the appointed time got through 36. The repetition was effective. I can still recite the same 36 lines of The
Raven. In fact I learned 42 of the 108
lines, but have never gone on to finish the poem. The repetition was so effective that after my
classmates had recited their poems, I had learned some of them, and can still
remember 17 lines of Longfellow’s Paul
Revere’s Ride and 16 lines of
Poe’s Annabelle Lee, which were, by far, the most
popular choices.
For me, Mrs. Douglas was inspired in her choice of instruction. I learned several things by the exercise. First of all it taught me that I could memorize, which has become a valuable skill I have used all of my life. It also helped to allay my fear of speaking before a group, and did give me some appreciation for poetry, albeit a small sample. Lyrics of songs, it seems, are easier to memorize as the music helps to propel the words, and while I appreciate the music, I have to hear the lyrics. The lyrics are what make the song meaningful to me. I understand that this varies between individuals. My wife seldom knows what the lyrics are, but hears the music. She loves the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, but I don’t because I only hear a blur when they sing. The lyrics are often smothered by the many voices singing.
Through the years, I have sometimes decided to memorize a poem that has appealed to me. I’m not sure how to define my selections except to say they are eclectic. I memorized Jabberwocky from Alice In Wonderland by Lewis Carroll, and while it is a song, I would count Modern Major General from Gilbert and Sullivans’ The Pirates of Penzance. Recently I wanted to see if my older brain still was capable, and I have always admired several of Robert Frost’s poems, so I learned Mending Wall, The Road Not Taken, and Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening. When my friend, Richard, and I worked in Boy Scouts, he had offered a Big Mac to any of the boys that could recite The Cremation of Sam McGee by Robert Service. Over many years, only one boy took him up on the offer. I saw Richard the other day and told him I was ready to collect, but I still haven’t gotten to perform for him.
I have come to appreciate that the brain really has no practical limit. It can hold as much as we are motivated to fill it with. We (I) are (am) naturally lazy so fail to challenge ourselves (myself), so if you see me walking around with an intense look on my face and a vacant stare, mumbling to myself, you might guess I am working on a poem. Or maybe my senility is just kicking in.
For me, Mrs. Douglas was inspired in her choice of instruction. I learned several things by the exercise. First of all it taught me that I could memorize, which has become a valuable skill I have used all of my life. It also helped to allay my fear of speaking before a group, and did give me some appreciation for poetry, albeit a small sample. Lyrics of songs, it seems, are easier to memorize as the music helps to propel the words, and while I appreciate the music, I have to hear the lyrics. The lyrics are what make the song meaningful to me. I understand that this varies between individuals. My wife seldom knows what the lyrics are, but hears the music. She loves the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, but I don’t because I only hear a blur when they sing. The lyrics are often smothered by the many voices singing.
Through the years, I have sometimes decided to memorize a poem that has appealed to me. I’m not sure how to define my selections except to say they are eclectic. I memorized Jabberwocky from Alice In Wonderland by Lewis Carroll, and while it is a song, I would count Modern Major General from Gilbert and Sullivans’ The Pirates of Penzance. Recently I wanted to see if my older brain still was capable, and I have always admired several of Robert Frost’s poems, so I learned Mending Wall, The Road Not Taken, and Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening. When my friend, Richard, and I worked in Boy Scouts, he had offered a Big Mac to any of the boys that could recite The Cremation of Sam McGee by Robert Service. Over many years, only one boy took him up on the offer. I saw Richard the other day and told him I was ready to collect, but I still haven’t gotten to perform for him.
I have come to appreciate that the brain really has no practical limit. It can hold as much as we are motivated to fill it with. We (I) are (am) naturally lazy so fail to challenge ourselves (myself), so if you see me walking around with an intense look on my face and a vacant stare, mumbling to myself, you might guess I am working on a poem. Or maybe my senility is just kicking in.
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