Yes, this poem had been lost for a long time…and had I not stumbled upon it in my parents’ attic, we all would have probably been better off.
If you have somehow not heard, I am sharing bits and pieces of my high school journals this summer, having come across a huge stash of old schoolwork while cleaning out my folks’ house, in preparation for its sale.
Back in June, I wrote about the initial discovery, and just this past Tuesday I explained why it was inevitable that I ended up in careers involving writing and advertising. Today, I’m sharing another one of the chestnuts I wrote in my English journal during senior year…and although it’s far from stellar-quality, it is probably the best-written poem I’ve shared from my journals so far.
You be the judge…
“Ode to Lint, II”
What is this, that I do see
floating past, in front of me?
Small dust speck, or puff of hair?
What is that thing flying there?
I reach out, it comes to me,
hardly larger than a flea;
I look close, I analyze.
Staring hard, I scrutinize
and attempt (as best I can)
to discern this work of Man.
Oh, too hard to contemplate!
Leaves my hand to impend fate.
What is that, that I do see
floating past, in front of me?
Small dust speck, or puff of hair?
What is that thing flying there??
– © 1985, Matt Forrest Esenwine, 4-4-85
Now, you have not known this until now, but I’ve done you the great service of not sharing most of the horrible poetry I wrote back then. Yes, yes…hard to believe, considering the subterranean level of quality of most of it. But true.
I had a penchant for trying to elevate the most mundane, ridiculous objects into flowery, verbose poems – so consider yourself fortunate that I have not shared my “Ode to a Stool,” “Ode to a Desk,” “Ode to Crust,” “Ode to Dropping Socks,” “Ode to Slippery Shoes,” “Ode to a Deep Thought,” or – what just might be the worst of all – my “Ode to Lint, I.” That’s right, I wasn’t happy with just one poem about lint; I apparently felt the subject was worthy of two, at least.
For today’s complete Poetry Friday roundup, head on over to Books 4 Learning. And be prepared…there’s a whole lot more mediocrity coming your way next week, right here!
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I don’t think I’ve ever used the word “scrutinize” in a poem. That’s quite amazing.
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I’m full of surprises, aren’t I, Joy?? Thanks for stopping by!
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I think you do your teenage self a disservice–Finding poetry in the mundane is a gift! Love this Ode to Lint! Thanks for sharing!
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Thanks! Yes, finding beauty in the mundane and the every day is a worthwhile pursuit…but the poems themselves leave a lot to be desired!
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Why stint on lint? Let it gather, grow and form bunnies! 🙂
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Ah, but dust and lint do sparkle and shine as they fall in the shafts of sunlight. Even lint is worthy of an ode – it, too is a piece of something or someone! I, personally, loved it!
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Thank you, Donna!
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Aww, what a precious glimpse into your teen self! It’s gratifying, isn’t it, to know that writing bug where there, even then, and here’s proof?! And I’m rather fond of this ode-ing to mundane objects. Could be a collection… thanks for sharing.
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Thank you, Irene! I may decide to share my “Ode to a Dishrag” next week…so be prepared!
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Thanks for the laugh Matt.
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Glad you liked it, Sally, thanks!
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You’re welcome! Thanks, Sally!
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I guess you were pondering that which we can know and that which is unknowable, Matt. Very deep. (Am impressed that you wrote two poems about lint! And two about socks 🙂 )
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Oh, I spent a lot of my time as a teenager pondering all sorts of stuff!
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Extra credit for using “scrutinize,” and thanks for sparing us other odes. 😉
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Thank you…and you’re welcome!
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🙂
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What fun with the unexpected — analyze … scrutinize … lint ?
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One never knows where inspiration might come from!
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Your teenage self noticed wonderful details…and had a sense of humor!
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Thanks, Tara…I’ll have to write about my “solutions” for my art class projects, which were often as bizarre as my journal entries…!
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“Ode to Crust.” That’s the one I want to read. Bread crust, I hope? (Or maybe I don’t want to know after all…)
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No, trust me, you don’t want to read that one!
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“Ode to Dropping Socks”! Really? Many questions come to mind… Who dropped them? Why? When? Or perhaps it’s about those socks that don’t have strong enough elastic and keep dropping into one’s shoes?
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I’m beginning to wonder if we should try to set up a poetry dialogue between our high school writings. I graduated in 81, not 85, but I think our poems could still “talk” to each other. I was busy trying to take lofty thoughts down into a more vernacular register (without giving up the 50cent words)–could make an interesting contrast!
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It would be an interesting concept, Heidi! Send me an email when you get a chance and maybe we can figure something out!
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