I picked up a copy of Dr. Seuss' The Cat in the Hat for my son at a car boot sale a few months ago. On reading it with him, I recalled having done so with my own father, always demanding it, treasuring it as my favourite book.
Putting aside doubts over its literary merits, sometimes clunky versification and the advances since then in children's poetry, I was struck once more by its vibrant language, by how it relishes playing with words, by how it transmits that infectious enjoyment to young readers. In other words, I'm now piecing back together part of the process that led to my falling in love with poetry. Our children so often help us to view afresh our own upbringing.
It’s been a while since I read Chris Edgoose’s admirable and enticing
review for The Friday Poem, here, of Geraldine Clarkson’s second full
collection, Med...
Examples of clunkiness in that one? I've always thought it was one of his best (smoothest, most flowing) in that respect.
ReplyDeleteIt flows wonderfully for the most part, but certain line-endings and unusual word-order seem artificial and forced so as to maintain rhymes. This is something that's a lot more apparent from an adult's perspective. As a child, I unquestioningly loved it!
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