poem in your pocket

Today over lunch, I took in food and Ballistics, by Billy Collins.


I first encountered his poetry in a college Intro to Poetry class.


The professor, who had three names, and moved slowly, and spoke slowly, told a story of her days in graduate school.  "My friends and I went on the Emily Dickinson diet for one month.  We ate only food that was white."  This was because it was legend that Emily Dickinson wore only white.


So my professor spent a month eating cauliflower, cheese, and white wine.  I believe emphasis was on the latter two. 


The first poem I wrote for her class was about a cow.  I was called on to read it, under the shade of a tree, beneath which the entire class was seated, because she brought us outside a lot.


She required each student to memorize a poem, and recite it to the class. 
I chose The Dead, by Billy Collins, loving glass bottom boats of heaven, and the image, wait, like parents, for us to close our eyes.


Coming back to a writer you like, that you've been away from, is like a reunion of sorts.  A flood of how you encountered their words initially. 


I found this interview with Billy Collins and loved it, from top to bottom.  It speaks of integration, of the purpose of poetry, and how he too, had his students memorize a poem.