I thought about trying to dress it up, but the lame, oh-so-pathetic fact of the matter is that I didn’t do any better in week two than I did in week one: my poetry muscle remains enthusiastic but unexercised.
I trekked my book along loyally for this, third, Wednesday (books one and two were also lugged along with my other Buried In Print-ish-ness, which, let me say, in conjunction with Attica Locke’s Black Water Rising last week, was no task for a light-weight)…
but it’s clear that just wanting the habit to take hold is not enough.
I need incentive. And what does one usually do in another situation akin to this?
When you want to get back into shape, but tucking your feet under the edge of the sofa to do sit-ups is consistently interrupted by other activities (like, sitting on said sofa, reading)?
::nods:: That’s right: you get a gym membership.
And what does an obsessively bookish reader do instead of pay for a monthly gym membership.
::nods vehemently:: Yup. Buy books.
Ima goin’ poetry book shoppin’.
Ima goin’ to buy some poetry books that I’m gonna leave at work.
Ima goin’ to read them on my lunch-hour.
Ima goin’ to get that muscle flexin’.
If you’re having the same trouble, introducing (or re-introducing) poetry into your regular reading routine, and you’ve got some time to surf daily, there’s always Poetry Daily.
Check out Billy Collins: he’s often delightfully bookish.
[Edited to add: I *did* it.]