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poliphiloThe only time that I can think of that I actually sat down and committed verse to memory was when my grandmother offered me a reward if I did so. The poem was Kipling's "Sussex" and the reward was a copy of one of his books with his signature in it. I don't know why she chose "Sussex" when she'd done most of her living in Kent and Surrey- but there it is: and I'm grateful not only for the reward but also for the verse which has got itself embedded in my synapses and keeps coming to mind- especially when we're driving down the A21 towards the "blunt, bow-headed, whale-backed Downs"- and will probably be one of the last things I lose my grip on if and when dementia takes hold.
But, even though it may be the only thing I've ever made myself learn by heart, "Sussex" is just a tiny fragment of the cache of verse that I've got squirreled away in memory. I've never properly taken stock of it all but I imagine it would fill a sizeable anthology. There are few complete poems- probably because few poems are wonderful all the way through- though I surprised myself yesterday by being able to reel off a complete lyric by de la Mare. There's a lot of Shakespeare- much of it in the form of isolated lines- and something for every mood from "the long light shakes across the lakes" to "They fuck you up, your mum and dad." There's a lot of Kipling, a lot of Yeats, a lot of de la Mare (who is particularly memorable because he's so musical), a fair bit of Auden and Eliot and Betjeman and Larkin. I can recite most of Kubla Khan without stumbling and chunks of Keats and Shelley and Browning and Arnold. I know several of the Songs of Innocence and Experience. The oldest item in the collection is "I sing of a maiden that is makeless" and the most recent? I'd love to come up with something by a living poet but I don't seem to be able to- which may be a judgement on our current poetic culture or- more likely- on myself for being out of touch.
But, even though it may be the only thing I've ever made myself learn by heart, "Sussex" is just a tiny fragment of the cache of verse that I've got squirreled away in memory. I've never properly taken stock of it all but I imagine it would fill a sizeable anthology. There are few complete poems- probably because few poems are wonderful all the way through- though I surprised myself yesterday by being able to reel off a complete lyric by de la Mare. There's a lot of Shakespeare- much of it in the form of isolated lines- and something for every mood from "the long light shakes across the lakes" to "They fuck you up, your mum and dad." There's a lot of Kipling, a lot of Yeats, a lot of de la Mare (who is particularly memorable because he's so musical), a fair bit of Auden and Eliot and Betjeman and Larkin. I can recite most of Kubla Khan without stumbling and chunks of Keats and Shelley and Browning and Arnold. I know several of the Songs of Innocence and Experience. The oldest item in the collection is "I sing of a maiden that is makeless" and the most recent? I'd love to come up with something by a living poet but I don't seem to be able to- which may be a judgement on our current poetic culture or- more likely- on myself for being out of touch.
