There’s just something about poetry. It’s like a mini-memoir, zooming in to describe one extraordinary moment. Last fall I heard this one on the Writer’s Almanac (read by Garrison Keillor, of course), and was struck by the sweetness of it. I’ve bought more books of poetry as a result of hearing the Writer’s Almanac than I care to admit. 🙂
This poem is called “For My Son, Reading Harry Potter,” by Michael Blumental. You can read all of it here, but here’s a taste:
Oh, how I wish for you
that life may let you turn and turn
these pages, in whose spell
time is frozen, as is pain and fright and loss
before you’re destined to be lost again
in that disordered and distressing book
your life will write for you and cannot change.
At his website, Blumenthal says about his work, “I feel, now, that my work derives from the healthier (and happier) desire to tap the sources of my own inner wisdom, and to make music of it.” (Here are more Blumenthal poems.)
I can certainly hear the music in this one. Have a lovely weekend!
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