More often than not, a child’s first exposure to poetry is through nursery rhymes and Mother Goose. As we observe the final Sunday of National Poetry Month 2024, I wanted to recognize the role of nursery rhymes in providing a literary foundation for readers and poets everywhere.Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.
Nursery rhymes are a rudimentary form of poetry. In general, children love the repetitious quality of simple verses. Twinkle, twinkle little star … One, Two, Buckle My Shoe … Pat-a-Cake, Pat-a-Cake, Baker’s Man. The rhythms delight. The rhymes become fixed in memory. When there are numbers involved, the little ones learn basic counting.
Thinking about these early parent-child interactions today, I contemplated the function of poetry in general. One Pulitzer winning poet described some of the qualities she tries to achieve in her poetry: “… to be intimate but restrained, tender without being sentimental.”
Clik here to view.
This prize-winning poet (Jhumpa Lahiri) mentions other qualities as well, but I wanted to focus on the two mentioned above. In my view, the elemental nature of parent-child interactions (especially during the early years) certainly includes intimate and tender aspects.
The images which come to my recall carry the sweetness of both, intimacy and tenderness – not always including, I admit, the restrained part, but wonderfully precious reminders nonetheless.
Whether I was reading to a son or daughter, a grandson or granddaughter, our reading time might include the intimacy of pre-sleep, quiet play … or it might be the launch pad for more rambunctious romps. Most parents would find a similar interaction to be commonplace.
Unfortunately, children who learn their nursery rhymes via a YouTube video (or some other digital device) will not enjoy the interactive delights of a parent’s lap or devoted attention. There’s a presumption we’ll all have tomorrow, then we can do those ordinary things – those quotidian things – we postponed today.
Seventy years ago this month, my baby sister was born. Though she died a mere fifteen months later, her presence (as absence) has always lingered along the periphery of my mind. It’s a curious weighty-ness I can’t pretend to understand, but I acknowledge it.
The sonnet below reflects my personal study of Romans 8. Rather than choose one or two specific verses, the entire chapter is a beautiful confirmation of trusting Jesus Christ even when the shadow of death hovers.
Clik here to view.
Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.
