A Little Bit of Poetry for Everyday

News coverage over winter break included such seemingly hard-hitting stories like President Dubya's pretzel choking incident and Prince Harry's drug problem, but virtually ignored a significant news story: The Library of Congress has named Billy Collins poet laureate for 2002.

Why is this newsworthy? Because poetry is an art that merits more widespread appreciation, and the position is one that deserves more fame and fanfare. And, if any poet has the urban savvy and humor to shot-put poetry into the mainstream and build the position to a level of celebrity, it's Billy Collins. Stodgy and pipe sucking he's not. Quite to the contrary, the cigarette smoking, blue jeans clad lyricist is as far from Lord Chesterfield as they come.

Before Billy Collins, poet laureates have approached the task of popularizing poetry in a bevy of ways. Joseph Brodsky initiated the idea of posting poetry in public places -- such as supermarkets, airports, hospitals and subways. Gwendolyn Brooks met with elementary school children and encouraged them to write poetry. Robert Pinsky traveled the country filming people reading their favorite poems and edited the footage into a film. Despite these efforts, it's clear that poetry has not yet descended from its highbrow platform and onto our nation's nightstands -- and it should.

Allow me to suggest ways to infuse your life with a bit of prosical nectar. First of all, read Billy Collins. He's on the Web. Anyone can appreciate entertaining pieces such as, "Another reason why I don't keep a gun in the house," describing the unharmonious howling of the pooch next door ("They must switch him on on their way out.

29 Or try "The Art of Drowning," in which Collins demystifies the phenomenon of seeing your life flash before your eyes by insisting that if anything flashes, it must be a fish.

My favorite poem, "I Chop Some Parsley While Listening to Art Blakey's Version of 'Three Blind Mice'" begins, "And I start wondering how they came to be blind/ If it was congenital, they could be brothers and sister," broaching a seldom-asked yet very important query. Collins questions if the three blind mice were the victims of a common accident, such as an explosion or fireworks mishap. Finally, in the most witty observation of all, he poses, "Would it not be difficult for a blind mouse/ to locate even one fellow mouse with vision/ let alone two other blind mice?" So very true. In dissecting an unchallenged piece from our nursery rhyme canon, Collins encourages us to probe into literature that is often read without discerning contest or debate.

Collins is a poet for those hip enough to already have an appreciation for this art form, and humorous enough to garner broad popular appeal. In fact, one of his virtues is that his poetry is not frustratingly obscure; it's not written in code. I'm certain that any Seinfeld-loving college student will appreciate Collins.

But don't stop your lyrical efforts with reading Collins. Buy a magnetic poetry set for the fridge. Make sure to get the adult version, with sumptuous adjectives and cutting verbs, for refrigerator banter with the roommates.

And finally, the way that I communicate with poetry, is the e-mail haiku. Yes, the 5-7-5 syllable ditty that you may remember from the 4th grade unit on Japanese culture can hold a place in your college lifestyle. Topics need not be monumental or even interesting. For example, my friend wrote to me about an uncomfortable breakfast date he had: "Anorexic date/ She eats parsley for breakfast/ How ridiculous." Simple, but entertaining. If I were the poet laureate, I'd give my e-mail haiku encouragement a formal project title, like "Project Haiku," but I'm not, so just take it as a suggestion.

Archived article by Andrea Forker