Lets hear it for poetry that is easy, and I do not mean simple, to understand and invites pleasure.

In anticipation of April being poetry month I signed up to receive a poem a day, delivered to my email.  Anticipating great delight, I quickly, and not so happily, became disenchanted. I have not understood or liked any of the poems until today when I received The Things by Donald Hall.

Lets hear it for poetry that is easy, and I do not mean simple, to understand and invites pleasure. I don’t think anyone loves to look for the hidden meaning, that needle in the haystack. 



When I walk in my house I see pictures,


bought long ago, framed and hanging


—de Kooning, Arp, Laurencin, Henry Moore

—
that I've cherished and stared at for years,


yet my eyes keep returning to the masters 


of the trivial—a white stone perfectly round, 


tiny lead models of baseball players, a cowbell, 


a broken great-grandmother's rocker,


a dead dog's toy—valueless, unforgettable 


detritus that my children will throw away


as I did my mother's souvenirs of trips 


with my dead father, Kodaks of kittens, 


and bundles of cards from her mother Kate

~ Donald Hall