In brief
This article delves into the experience of memorizing poetry as a childhood joy that blossoms into a lifelong love, highlighting the transformative power of verse in daily life.
The first poem I ever memorized was “Pinkle Purr” by A.A. Milne, a whimsical piece that captured my heart when I was approximately seven years old. It’s a short, charming poem about the relationship between a kitten named Pinkle Purr and his mother, Tattoo, showcasing their emotional evolution as he matures. I didn’t consciously set out to memorize it; rather, through repeated readings it embedded itself in my mind like a beloved melody. I often found myself reciting it quietly, embodying the characters through different inflections: “Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr/A little black nothing of feet and fur;/And by-and-by, when his eyes came through,/He saw his mother, the big Tattoo.” My early experience with poetry was not a chore; it was an invitation to immerse myself in something I cherished. Even during my graduate studies, I garnered lines from Galway Kinnell’s “Little Sleep’s-Head Sprouting Hair in the Moonlight” that still visit me unexpectedly: “Kiss the mouth / that tells you, here, / here is the world.” It’s a blessing that amidst life’s incessant demands and distractions, my mind treasures these exquisite fragments of art—echoes of beauty that surface unbidden.Recently, The Times Book Review's Weeklong Poetry Challenge encouraged readers to memorize Edna St. Vincent Millay’s captivating poem “Recuerdo,” offering an engaging framework with games and videos to enhance the learning experience. I am undoubtedly a target audience for such initiatives, and even skeptics may find themselves swayed to try this challenge. The structure of the challenge simplifies the seemingly daunting task of memorization, enabling participants to absorb the poem in a delightful way. A thoughtful note by A.O. Scott and Aliza Aufrichtig states: “At a time when we are flooded with texts, rants and A.I. slop, a poem occupies a quieter, less commodified corner of your consciousness. It’s a flower in the windowbox of your mind.” One particular poem that firmly resides in my mental garden is Gerard Manley Hopkins’ “Spelt From Sibyl’s Leaves.” I first committed it to memory two decades ago and have repeatedly revisited it, each time striving to perfect my recitation. The poem’s unique rhythm, captivating language, and vivid imagery make its recitation feel euphoric: “Earnest, earthless, equal, attuneable, ‘vaulty, voluminous, ... stupendous / Evening strains to be time’s vast, ‘ womb-of-all, home-of-all, hearse-of-all night.” I only recently learned that Hopkins believed this poem should be experienced vocally, almost like a song. It’s a practice that feels particularly essential during restless nights or anxious moments when thoughts spiral outward, and my mind longs for an alternate focus. Herein lies the true value of memorized poetry: the ability to summon its lines from memory and share them aloud in moments of need or reflection, transforming words into a melodic embrace.
