I’ve always liked rhythm in words.
Possibly why I’m a Sound of Music tragic, because there’s a lot of rhythm in “Doe, a deer, a female deer. Ray, a drop of golden sun. Me, a name I call myself. Far, a long, long way to run…” and, for that matter, in “Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. Bright copper kettles and warm woollen mittens…” (Also why they’re perfect ear-worms! I make no apologies.)
It’s also why I can still say things like: supercalifragilisticexpialidocious and Tikki Tikki Tembo-no Sa Rembo-chari Bari Ruchi-pip Peri Pembo, which I learnt as a kid, because I used to say them over and over to hear the rhythm.
Of course it’s also why I loved poetry (of the rhyming sort) from a young age and still do. And, conversely, why most modern poetry bores me to tears.
I’ve been snuggling up with some of my old poetry books this past week and refreshing my memory of the few poems I ever learnt by heart. My favourite book is:
I don’t know if you can tell, but most of the brown-ish detail was once golden, metallic detail and that makes it one of the handsomest books I’ve ever seen. It’s now 57 years old, this copy, and the pages are the colour of a well cooked shortbread, but I think it’s in okay condition considering. I mean I’ve thumbed through it for many years and it had at least one owner before me!
What I love about it, beyond the handsome cover, is that contains four of my favourite pieces of verse. Reading them again -and seeing if I can still recite the ones I used to be able to – got me thinking I might post over the holiday period about them and about some of my other favourites too.
Speaking of the impending holiday season, it probably won’t surprise you to learn that I also adore most of the traditional xmas carols!