[New-Poetry] On turning 10

[AlMaginnes at aol.com]

This reminds me a bit of a song by a singer/songwriter named Alejandro  
Escovedo. He was visiting a class in an elementary school and one of the kids  said 
since he turned 10 candy didn't taste as good.
 
The chorus of the song goes:
 
I turned the big one-oh
I feel so old\
Candy doesn't taste as good any more"
 
 
In a message dated 2/15/2007 6:07:49 PM Eastern Standard Time,  
jeff.newberry at gmail.com writes:

I like this poem a lot, myself; and I'm not a huge fan of Collins.
 
To me, he's the poet laureate of missed opportunities.  He has all  these 
great ideas that kind of lie flat on the page, doing nothing.
 
"On Turning 10," however, I like.
 
Jeff


On 2/15/07, Anny  Ballardini <_anny.ballardini at tin.it_ 
(mailto:anny.ballardini at tin.it) >  wrote:  
I  know I am going to say something I should not say on this list, but  there
are some poems by Billy Collins that I love _this is one of them,  and I 
enjoyed in an exceptional way a program on kqed with Collins as a  guest, ...

From: "David Graham" <_grahamd at ripon.edu_ (mailto:grahamd at ripon.edu) >
Sent: Thursday,  February 15, 2007 6:58 PM 


>
>
>
> On  2/15/07 8:51 AM, "Anny Ballardini" <_anny.ballardini at tin.it_ 
(mailto:anny.ballardini at tin.it) >  wrote:
>
>> Re.: your first point, when I was 10 I did not  want to reach 30, 
>  =====================================
>
> On Turning  Ten
>
> The whole idea of it makes me feel
> like I'm  coming down with something,
> something worse than any stomach ache  
> or the headaches I get from reading in bad light--
> a kind  of measles of the spirit,
> a mumps of the psyche,
> a  disfiguring chicken pox of the soul.
>
> You tell me it is too  early to be looking back, 
> but that is because you have  forgotten
> the perfect simplicity of being one
> and the  beautiful complexity introduced by two.
> But I can lie on my bed and  remember every digit.
> At four I was an Arabian wizard. 
> I  could make myself invisible
> by drinking a glass of milk a certain  way.
> At seven I was a soldier, at nine a prince.
>
> But  now I am mostly at the window
> watching the late afternoon light.  
> Back then it never fell so solemnly
> against the side of my  tree house,
> and my bicycle never leaned against the garage
>  as it does today,
> all the dark blue speed drained out of  it.
>
> This is the beginning of sadness, I say to  myself,
> as I walk through the universe in my sneakers.
> It is  time to say good-bye to my imaginary friends,
> time to turn the first  big number. 
>
> It seems only yesterday I used to  believe
> there was nothing under my skin but light.
> If you  cut me I could shine.
> But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of  life,
> I skin my knees. I bleed.  
>
>                --Billy Collins
>
>
>  ====================================================
> David  Graham
> _grahamd at ripon.edu_ (mailto:grahamd at ripon.edu) 
> Home Page:  
> _http://www.ripon.edu/academics/faculty/GrahamD/index.html_ 
(http://www.ripon.edu/academics/faculty/GrahamD/index.html) 
>  Poetry Library:
> _http://www.ripon.edu/academics/faculty/GrahamD/poetrylib.html_ 
(http://www.ripon.edu/academics/faculty/GrahamD/poetrylib.html) 
>  ====================================================


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-- 
"Memory believes before knowing  remembers.  Believes longer than recollects, 
longer than knowing  even wonders." 
—William Faulkner, Light in August


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