Some say that the things I like and like to do are a bit odd. I like, for example, to read magazines backwards, from back to front. I also like my pancakes cut prior to pouring syrup on them. Same goes for my dislikes. I enjoy eating blueberries by the pint, but put them in a muffin and I won't touch it. I tend to almost always adore poems that people send me to read, but I can read poems on my own for weeks without finding one worth bookmarking or photocopying. Remember those hit television shows Friends, ER, Grey's Anatomy, and Survivor? Can't stand them. They say there's no accounting for taste. So please, dear readers, don't shun or unsubscribe when I confess the following...
...I don't care for Romantic poetry.
Yes, it's true. Keats, Burns, Byron, Shelley, Coleridge, Wordsworth (although I've always enjoyed "The Daffodils"), and almost, almost all of Blake--you can keep them. I know I'm supposed to worship their magnificent rhyme and meter, their lyrical beauty...but I can't do it. I'm sorry. I have tried the Mariner, the Grecian Urn, etc. but I struggle to find the appeal.
Who's to blame for this? I suppose I could blame some teacher or professor from years gone by, but no, the blame falls to me. The Romance period is like the biggest, fanciest, tastiest of blueberry muffins--something I'll just never get into. Feel free to skewer me on this one, I know I deserve it. I just felt it was time to come clean. Maybe I'm hoping there are some out there who feel the same. There are, right??? Or, better yet, what's your poetry confession? Feel free to comment, we can keep it between us.
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