Funny thing about poetry, how people suddenly resport to it when they don't know
what else to say. After what showed up all over the net after September 11, 2001,
and again after last Saturday, nobody should ever need to question why poetry
matters.
I admit to getting a little tired of "High Flight",
but that's just because as a pilot and an aerospace engineer, it's an old favorite
that I learned by heart years ago. It's entirely appropriate to the discussion of
why the astronauts went up, knowing the risks. On the other hand, it's nice to see
a poem that means a lot to me comfort other people too.
My
own choice for most appropriate poem was posted as a comment to
href="http://nielsenhayden.com/makinglight/archives/2003_02.html#002309">Teresa
Nielsen Hayden's site, to which I was directed by
href="http://mechaieh.diaryland.com/020103.html">Mechaieh (I know, go figure).
Since it's off on the comments page, I'll repost it
here:
A bundle of tempestuous cloud is blown
About the sky; where that is clear of cloud
Brightness remains; a brighter
star shoots down;
What shudders run through all that animal blood?
What is
this sacrifice? Can someone there
Recall the Cretan barb that pierced a
star?
--Parnell's Funeral, W.B Yeats
My own
poem yesterday (which,
I realize, is the height of hubris to mention right under one from Yeats; I am not
doing so from any claims as to its quality but just to make a point) more or less
flowed out in about ten minutes. (If it's a little rough, that's why.) In contrast
is another one on which I've been working for a week and have two verses down.
Something about tragedy* calls out words, and something about poetry seems to
respond best to elemental needs.