Practical Poems, part one

Michael Augustin, the German poet quoted in the April 2 post, has asked another pertinent question.

How many poems per month
does an average
family of four need
to make ends meet?

That depends. To misquote Tolstoy, average families are not all alike; every family has its own literary needs.

But the prudent household keeps a folder of useful poems in a drawer.

This well-known memory aid is helpful when writing out the date on a check.

Thirty days hath September,
April, June and November.
February eight-and-twenty all alone
And all the rest have thirty-one,
Unless that Leap Year doth combine
And give to February twenty-nine.

~ Anon.

This ditty helps one decide what clothes to wear that day.

Spring is showery, flowery, bowery;
Summer: hoppy, croppy, poppy;
Autumn: slippy, drippy, nippy;
Winter: breezy, sneezy, freezy.

~ Anon.

And this verse is for those generous (and foolish) folks who lend out their books. Inscribed on the flyleaf, it would strike just the right balance between a gentle nudge and a stern reminder.

This book is mine by right divine;
And if it go astray,
I’ll call you kind
My desk to find
And put it safe away.

~ Anon.

That's Amore, part one

The most popular poems are all about love – love found, love lost, love rejected, and love regained.

They’re stored in a treasure chest we can borrow from when we can’t put our feelings into words. What is banal in prose can become, well, poetic when expressed in the special rhymes and rhythms of verse.

But is it right to copy someone’s work? Just as important,

Are love poems
bound to one person
or are they transferable?

~ Michael Augustin, b. 1953, German poet,
from Some Questions Regarding Poems

The answers are clear. Copying is allowed. If you give credit where credit is due, it’s a quotation, not plagiarism.

And poetry is universal. The poet of this famous sonnet was writing to her husband. No lover would reject this.

SONNET XLIII

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

~ Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861), English poet, to her husband, the poet Robert Browning (1812-1889), from Sonnets from the Portuguese