Wine, Words & Wednesday, No. 49

Monday was The Great Poetry Reading Day, or maybe it was National Poetry Day.  Or month.
I know it was something about poems, because I started thinking about poetry and wine.

I mostly don’t get poetry (wine, I get).  I just don’t think I’m esoteric enough to truly understand poetry.  I know I’m supposed to be moved to some kind of epiphany about the human condition in iambic pentameter, but when I read a poem, my first reaction is almost always, what the heck?  (I may or may not use another word that ends in ck.)

I had a professor in college who said [read in condescending professor tone], “One does not understand poetry.  One feels poetry.”  (Right up until exam time, and then one really need to understand poetry.)  Anyway, he said to grab onto one thing you like about a poem and build on it until you feel something.  I usually felt bored.  And confused.

There are actually quite a few poems about wine (well, starring wine, anyway).  And a lot of them are either really really long, or really really weird.

So, I settled on a Goldilocks poem (not too long, and not too weird) by William Butler Yeats, an Irish poet, and heavyweight of 20th Century literature:

yeatsWhat’s one thing I like about this poem?  It’s short!  It’s short, and it has wine!  Ergo, this is a good poem.  😉  Honestly, this poem makes me feel a little sad.  And unsettled.  I think it’s that sigh.  Poor guy.  It sounds like he loves someone who doesn’t love him back.  Or maybe he can’t tell her.  In wine there is solace?

Well, that was kind of a bummer.  I don’t want to close on that note, so I found a free form satirical Haiku (yep, I’m making up types of poetry now) that makes me feel happy:

roses are redSalud!


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