In honor of National Poetry Month, I share with you this poem that I keep posted by my computer at work.
by Emily Bronte
The night is darkening round me,
The wild winds coldly blow;
But a tyrant spell has bound me
And I cannot, cannot go.
The giant trees are bending
Their bare boughs weighed with snow.
And the storm is fast descending,
And yet I cannot go.
Clouds beyond clouds above me,
Wastes beyond wastes below;
But nothing dear can move me;
I will not, cannot go.
As one who dabbles in writing and reading poetry, I often get asked: Why poetry?
There are many reasons, of course — including the fact that writing plot and characters intimidates me to no end — but I think children's writer Jacqueline Woodson said it best in this recent interview. For Woodson, her decision to write her memoir Brown Girl Dreaming in verse was simple: "Memory doesn't come as a straight narrative. It comes in small moments with all this white space."
Poetry not only allows for the writer to take imaginative leaps in time, content, and space, but it also allows the reader to connect the dots in her or his own unique way, to create her or his own unique narrative by filling in the negative space — or deciding not to.
— Eliza Leahy
Associate Editor, Trade and Consumer