Thursday, January 28, 2010

A polar bear in my frigidaire

When I was 11, which isn't so very small, I was given some poetry anthologies and I came across a series of poems I really liked but then later lost the books and never found them again.

The poet is Shel Silverstein and reading this made me smile. Doesn't it happen to us all? Reading an old book again or finding a lost poem is like meeting an old friend; it lights our present moment up with the peculiar yellowing light of nostalgia and for a moment, that familiar smile is enough.

The poem posted below isn't one of the ones I read when I was little, but thought it apropos, given my blog url :)It was lovely re-discovering Shel Silverstein; he's such a quirky funny old soul who didn't take life - or critics - too seriously.So much talent though! Poet, musician AND illustrator - goodness - most people wear just the one hat but he has to have three!


Bear In There

There's a Polar Bear
In our Frigidaire--
He likes it 'cause it's cold in there.
With his seat in the meat
And his face in the fish
And his big hairy paws
In the buttery dish,
He's nibbling the noodles,
He's munching the rice,
He's slurping the soda,
He's licking the ice.
And he lets out a roar
If you open the door.
And it gives me a scare
To know he's in there--
That Polary Bear
In our Fridgitydaire.



Last night, while I lay thinking here,
some Whatifs crawled inside my ear
and pranced and partied all night long
and sang their same old Whatif song:
Whatif I'm dumb in school?
Whatif they've closed the swimming pool?
Whatif I get beat up?
Whatif there's poison in my cup?
Whatif I start to cry?
Whatif I get sick and die?
Whatif I flunk that test?
Whatif green hair grows on my chest?
Whatif nobody likes me?
Whatif a bolt of lightning strikes me?
Whatif I don't grow talle?
Whatif my head starts getting smaller?
Whatif the fish won't bite?
Whatif the wind tears up my kite?
Whatif they start a war?
Whatif my parents get divorced?
Whatif the bus is late?
Whatif my teeth don't grow in straight?
Whatif I tear my pants?
Whatif I never learn to dance?
Everything seems well, and then
the nighttime Whatifs strike again!


The Little Boy and the Old Man

Said the little boy, "Sometimes I drop my spoon."
Said the old man, "I do that too."
The little boy whispered, "I wet my pants."
"I do that too," laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, "I often cry."
The old man nodded, "So do I."
"But worst of all," said the boy, "it seems
Grown-ups don't pay attention to me."
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
"I know what you mean," said the little old man.

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