I don’t get poetry.  I thought I did, at times like in college, high school, and even elementary school.  In sixth grade, my teacher invited poet Georgia Heard to come to my class and teach us about writing poems and to listen to some of our poems.  I remember reading my poem to her and the class (I even remember the poem and what it was about!) and some of her kind words about it.  In high school and college I can remember writing essays about poems and, at the time, I thought I was pretty confident in my understanding of the whole “words as art” motif.  I even bought a book of Shakespearean sonnets as they are still my favorite form of poetry.  However, this is in no wise a comprehensive history of the relationship between myself and poetry, I merely want  you to understand that, yeah, I thought I had an understanding of an art form that I have had a long and varied past with.  Then something comes along to shatter my confidence in that relationship.

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