I can’t claim to know much about poetry. I know what I like and what has stuck with me over the years; E.E. Cummings, Edgar Allen Poe, Robert Lowell, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Keats, Shelley, Whitman, Frost, Virgil…okay so maybe I know a few things but I can’t recite a poem for the life of me. Yes, I keep a book of poetry in my truck. It is a collection, and is pretty much falling apart because I do read it when I have to sit in the car for a bit. So it isn’t just there for show.
When I bought Scott Wannberg’s Strange Movie Full Of Death and came across “Doorstop Of Love”, I actually walked around the block with it in my big, fat face. I literally had to read that poem over and over because it pulled at my heartstrings. But lets face it – poetry is tough. You have to be willing to feel and that can get ugly…which is what makes poetry so beautiful; you are not alone.
I sure miss Scott’s daily musings and I know I am not alone in my sorrow. His voice quiet isn’t natural and we disciples of Wannberg feel it deeply. As you may have read, I am feeling sort of dejected these days and it is a bit of a bore. I apologize. When I sit thinking about my dull dramas it is even more depressing, but if I think about my dramas with Scott’s voice, it ain’t so bad.
He let’s me rejoice in the pain of being human and he let’s me do it with a song and dance…and that’s the kinda gal I am. Singing and dancing through life’s trials is the only way to fly.
God bless the lateness of computers because 30 years from now I certainly wouldn’t have my treasure of yellowed paper: my letters from Scott.
Better start printing those beloved emails folks.
- Listening to the Victorians (oup.com)
- Scott Wannberg, poet of Dutton’s was 58 (laobserved.com)
- Couple more nice tributes to Scott Wannberg (laobserved.com)