Billy Collins

I've been a real sloth with my reading lately--either rereading old stuff (kinda' fun) or starting and abandoning various crappy novels. Yesterday, in desperation and not wanting to get out of bed on the last day before my schedule takes a turn for the crazed, I grabbed a Billy Collins book of poetry within reach. Ah, poetry, nothing like it on a rainy day and for a gloomy mood.
Actually, that's not at all what Billy Collins' poetry is like. He makes me want to be a better writer. No, not poetry. God no. I gave up any illusions in that direction my freshman year in a course with Julia Alvarez. Billy Collins has such crystalline images of the every day world that he takes away any difficult reputation poetry might have. I own three of his books (always buy poetry books or no one will write it anymore. It's not like it's lucrative) and I'd be hard-pressed to choose a favorite. I've almost peed my pants reading some of his poems ("I chop Some Parsley While Listening to Art Blakey's Version of Three Blind Mice") which might, unfortunately, say more about me than I should let on. Other times, I've been brought up short by his perfect rendering of a moment in my own life (Most recently, "On the Death of a Next-door Neighbor"). Mostly, he's funny, though. Poetry works for every moment in life and reminds us to look and admire the small things. I like way too many of his poems to do them any justice here. I feel like a novice star at the Oscars, forgetting to thank my husband in my anxiety over forgetting no one. So I won't even try to touch on the good ones. Simply, I fell for Collins over "Another Reason I don't keep a Gun in the House."

The neighbor's dog will not stop barking.

He is barking the same high, rhythmic bark

that he barks every time they leave the house.

They must switch him on on their way out...

Buy the book (Sailing Alone Around the Room) and read the rest for yourself. It doesn't have to be a rainy day.