Mr Pritchard's Scale

I've never been that 'into' poetry. I've never understood the appeal of reading it aloud or even just reading it at all. Don't get me wrong, I love poetry when I see it but I just don't seek it out all that much. I get bored kind of quickly if there isnt a story to keep me interested.

Last night I was pondering this and wondering what I truly considered great poetry. The movie Dead Poets Society had this hilarious scene where Mr Keating instructs his students to rip a 'forensic' explanation of poetry out of their books and I stand by this as well. Poetry should not be dissected since its beauty is actually in the 'ear' of the beholder. Though I may voice my own opinion about it I certainly don't state it as fact. But I digress.

When I was young, I loved Shakespeare's Sonnets. Now, I still love them but more mildly. They bore me after awhile (though I believe they are considered technically perfect?). I like the one that says 'love is not love that alters when it alteration finds...' Isnt that pretty? Later, I really started loving Alfred Noyles' 'The Highwayman' ,since it's a story and kept me very interested. 'The Lady of Shallott' is another of these great story poems....and 'the jabberwocky', come to think of it. The Song of Solomon is a beautiful example of lyrical prose...another form of poetry, in my book. E.E. Cummings has a wonderful way with words as does Robert Frost...especially when it comes to nature. My husband loves Charles Bukowski's realistic approach to poetry and I love Theodore Rhoetke for the same reason. Rhoetke can write beautiful things about love (i.e. 'I think the dead are tender, shall we kiss?') and equally beautiful things about drinking the contents of a spittoon, on a dare (see 'The Golden River'). I certainly like Walt Whitman and Lord Byron but I couldnt name a poem of theirs that really 'gets me'. Maybe if they were set to music?

So what is the best poem ever written, according to me? At the risk of oozing w/ literary sacriliege, I'll tell you. The name of the poem is 'What was I Afraid of?' by Theodore Geisel (also knows as Dr Seuss) and it goes like this:

What Was I Afraid Of?

Well,I was walking in the night
And I saw nothing scary.
For I have never been afraid
Of anything. Not very.

Then I was deep within the woods
When, suddenly, I spied them.
I saw a pair of pale green pants
With nobody inside them!

I wasn't scared. But, yet, I stopped.
What could those pants be there for?
What could a pair of pants at night
Be standing in the air for?

And then they moved! Those empty pants!
They kind of started jumping.
And then my heart, I must admit,
It kind of started thumping.

So I got out. I got out fast
As fast as I could go, sir,
I wasn't scared. But pants like thatI did not care for. No, sir.


After that, a week went by.
Then one dark night in Grin-itch
(I had to do an errand there & fetch some Grin-itch spinach).
Well, I had fetched the spinach.
I was starting back through town
When those pants raced round a corner
And they almost knocked me down!

I lost my Grin-itch spinach
But I didn't even care.
I ran for home! Believe me,I had really had a scare!

Now, bicycles were never made
For pale green pants to ride 'em,
Especially spooky pale green pants
With nobody inside them!


And the NEXT night, I was fishing
For Doubt-trout on Roover River
When those pants came rowing toward me!
Well, I began to shiver.
And by now I was SO frightened
That, I'll tell you, but I hate to.
I screamed and rowed away and lost
My hook and line and bait, too!


I ran and found a Brickel bush.
I hid myself away.I got brickels in my britches
But I stayed there anyway.
I stayed all night. The next night, too.
I'd be there still, no doubt,
But I had to do an errand
So, the next night, I went out.


I had to do an errand,
Had to pick a peck of Snide
In a dark and gloomy Snide-field
That was almost nine miles wide.
I said, 'I do not fear those pantsWith nobody inside them.'
I said, and said, and said those words.
I said them. But I lied them.

Then I reached inside a Snide bush
And the next thing that I knew,
I felt my hand touch someone!
And I'll bet that you know who.
And there I was! Caught in the Snide!
And in that dreadful place
Those spooky, empty pants and I
Were standing face to face!

I yelled for help,I screamed. I shrieked.
I howled. I yowled. I cried,
'Oh, save me from these pale green pants
With nobody inside!'

But then a strange thing happened. Why those pants began to cry!
Those pants began to tremble; they were just as scared as I!

I never heard such whimpering
And I began to see
That I was just as strange to them
As they were strange to me!

I put my arm around their waist
And sat right down beside them
I calmed them down.
Poor empty pants
With nobody inside them.

And now we meet quite often,
Those empty pants and I,
And we never shake or tremble.
We both smile
And we say'Hi!'


There you have it. A wonderful poem that would have to rate pretty high on even Mr Pritchard's nasty scale. Of course without the artwork, it suffers some.