Poetry and our language

I was one of those college students (way back when) that the professors loved and other students hated. It wasn't that I just spoon-fed the professor what he or she wanted to hear; what I did was to set two viewpoints, the professor's and mine, opposite one another, acknowledge ways in which each was superior and each inferior. I argued for my point with both passion and appropriate humility, and never put down the professor's take on a certain book, play, or poem unless he was a jerk. And one did meet jerks among the faculty at my alma mater, the University of Connecticut.

I really enjoyed all the trappings of language and the study of language. I took an independent study in the Anglo-Saxon language (aka Old English) and actually tried my hand at Anglo-Saxon poetry writing. All the native Anglo-Saxon speakers really love it, but I could get any ordinary English speakers to give it a second look. Eventually I started using the alliterative form with modern English diction. Samhain Prayer, in the previous post, is an example of that usage.

Well, okay. I lied. There are no native Anglo-Saxon speakers. And since I'm not one either, I confess I was writing in modern English from the beginning.

Anyway, it's lovely rhythm, and I'm not sure why no one uses it anymore. Perhaps I'll try to write some more poetry. "Ladies and Gentleman, I'd like to introduce May Terry. She is a British-American woman from Connecticut who is interested in the roots of her language back before the watershed period known as the great vowel shift." If vowels hadn't shifted, we would all sound like a bunch of guttural animals trying to clear their throats. Politics would be a mess--a bigger mess, I mean. We would be at war over language, which at least would have a better chance of remaining bloodless than what our president is doing.

Enough silliness for tonight. I'm going to sleep. Namaste.

May