{"id":384,"date":"2015-12-18T11:43:00","date_gmt":"2015-12-18T11:43:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/2015\/12\/18\/words-that-sing\/"},"modified":"2020-10-28T17:12:28","modified_gmt":"2020-10-28T17:12:28","slug":"words-that-sing","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/2015\/12\/18\/words-that-sing\/","title":{"rendered":"Words That Sing"},"content":{"rendered":"
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\"apple<\/a><\/div>\n

When I was in high school I had an English teacher who every day would put a poem up on the board. \u00a0She never discussed it or even mentioned it, but every day when we walked into class there would be something new. \u00a0I wasn’t much of a poetry reader but I was a reader, an obsessive reader, and if she put a piece of writing on the board I was going to read it. \u00a0Most of it didn’t make much of an impression. \u00a0I read it, thought it sounded nice, and moved on. \u00a0But one day she put an Edna St. Vincent Millay poem up and it was different. \u00a0I don’t really know, I am still not much of a poetry reader, but it put images and ideas in my head. \u00a0I knew exactly what Millay was talking about even though I had never thought about it before. \u00a0This is the poem.<\/p>\n

Not in a silver casket cool with pearls<\/em>
\nor rich with red corundum or with blue,<\/em>
\nLocked, and the key withheld, as other girls<\/em>
\nHave given their loves, I give my love to you;<\/em>
\nNot in a lovers’-knot, not in a ring<\/em>
\nWorked in such fashion, and the legend plain-<\/em>
\nSemper Fidelis, where a secret spring<\/em>
\nKennels a drop of mischief for the brain:<\/em>
\nLove in the open hand, no thing but that,<\/em>
\nUngemmed, unhidden, wishing not to hurt,<\/em>
\nAs one should bring you cowslips in a hat<\/em>
\nSwung from the hand, or apples in her skirt,<\/em>
\nI bring you, calling as children do:<\/em>
\n“Look what I have!-And these are all for you.”<\/em><\/p>\n

I copied the poem down in a notebook and went home and pulled out my mother’s Millay anthology. \u00a0 As I paged through I found other bits and pieces that I liked. \u00a0Lines here, phrases there, stanzas on the next page, words that said something to me without necessarily telling a story. \u00a0I had always loved the story, that was why I read. \u00a0I devoured books for the story, the adventure, the romance, the mystery. \u00a0But poetry, this was different. \u00a0It was the beauty of the language that meant something. It was the way words could be strung together to make, not a story, but a sound, a rhythm, music.<\/p>\n

I am still not much of a poetry reader. \u00a0I still devour books and I still like the adventure, the romance, the mystery. \u00a0But I learned something that day. \u00a0I learned that the language is as important to me as the story, maybe more important. \u00a0I learned that sometimes you can read a book or a poem or a letter or anything really, and the words can sing. \u00a0And that, when the words sing? \u00a0That is a special kind of magic.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

When I was in high school I had an English teacher who every day would put a poem up on the board. \u00a0She never discussed it or even mentioned it, but every day when we walked into class there would be something new. \u00a0I wasn’t much of a poetry reader but I was a reader, an obsessive reader, and if she put a piece of writing on the board I was going to read it. \u00a0Most of it didn’t make much of an impression. \u00a0I read it, thought it sounded nice, and moved on. \u00a0But one day she put an Edna St. Vincent Millay poem up and it was different. \u00a0I don’t really know, I am still not much of a poetry reader, but it put images and ideas in my head. \u00a0I knew exactly what Millay was talking about even though I had never thought about it before. \u00a0This is the poem. Not in a silver casket cool with pearls or rich with red corundum or with blue, Locked, and the key withheld, as other girls Have given their loves, I give my love to you; Not in a lovers’-knot, not in a ring Worked in such fashion, and the legend plain- Semper Fidelis, where a secret spring Kennels a drop of mischief for the brain: Love in the open hand, no thing but that, Ungemmed, unhidden, wishing not to hurt, As one should bring you cowslips in a hat Swung from the hand, or apples in her skirt, I bring you, calling as children do: “Look what I have!-And these are all for you.” I copied the poem down in a notebook and went home and pulled out my mother’s Millay anthology. \u00a0 As I paged through I found other bits and pieces that I liked. \u00a0Lines here, phrases there, stanzas on the next page, words that said something to me without necessarily telling a story. \u00a0I had always loved the story, that was why I read. \u00a0I devoured books for the story, the adventure, the romance, the mystery. \u00a0But poetry, this was different. \u00a0It was the beauty of the language that meant something. It was the way words could be strung together to make, not a story, but a sound, a rhythm, music. I am still not much of a poetry reader. \u00a0I still devour books and I still like the adventure, the romance, the mystery. \u00a0But I learned something that day. \u00a0I learned that the language is as important to me as the story, maybe more important. \u00a0I learned that sometimes you can read a book or a poem or a letter or anything really, and the words can sing. \u00a0And that, when the words sing? \u00a0That is a special kind of magic.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":558,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[48,6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-384","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry","category-thoughts"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/384","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=384"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/384\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2898,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/384\/revisions\/2898"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/558"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=384"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=384"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=384"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}