“Hippos” Provides an Insight

Saying I don’t like poetry would be too strong a statement. A better way to put things is that generally I avoid it, especially modern free-form verse that doesn’t rhyme. So yesterday when my sister called to read “Hippos on Holiday” to me while I was waiting for the ferry to Seattle (poetry by cell phone), I was pleasantly surprised. I also had an insight and wondered if I have been missing something by only reading prose.

“Hippos” was written by Billy Collins, former poet laureate (2001–2003) of the United States. It’s reproduced below, without his permission, but hopefully with his blessing. I’m not sure what the poet laureate does. If part of the gig is to write and inspire poetry that non-poetry lovers might like, then he was a good one, at least to me.

So what do I like about “Hippos”? It’s short, light, whimsical, and makes its point as easily as flowing water. The images it evokes are as good as any painted in oil or water colors. Even the title made me smile. Best of all it was read to me. And that’s my insight—perhaps poetry is best that way. Let someone else figure out the pauses and inflections, so the listener can concentrate on the words and message.

It’s tough to get through 12th grade English literature without being exposed to lot of great poetry. But that was a long time ago. All I remember are the sonnets and an extra-credit project I took on to write 50 lines of poetry. I completed it barely and only by padding my total with a half-dozen haikus that counted as three lines each. As I said, I have pretty much avoided poetry ever since.

My friend and former co-worker M.M. writes poetry as a hobby. She has her own web site and has been invited to read her work several times at various places in Seattle. Maybe I will attend one to confirm that poetry was meant to be heard.

Hippos on Holiday – Billy Collins

is not really the title of a movie
but if it was I would be sure to see it.
I love their short legs and big heads,
the whole hippo look.
Hundreds of them would frolic
in the mud of a wide, slow-moving river,
and I would eat my popcorn
in the dark of a neighborhood theater.
When they opened their enormous mouths
lined with big stubby teeth
I would drink my enormous Coke.

I would be both in my seat
and in the water playing with the hippos,
which is the way it is
with a truly great movie.
Only a mean-spirited reviewer
would ask on holiday from what?